Quiet

The half moon sported a splendid, rainbow-edged halo most of the night, thanks to an assortment of diaphanous clouds. It reminded me of a bright pebble dropped into a dark pool. The air was uncommonly cool for the time of year, and I donned apparel not particularly gay to ward off the chill as I watched the celestial display. I was even able to turn off the window fan at a decent hour and enjoy the resulting quiet. The morning is oddly quiet, too. The Extremely Noisy Birds^TM who sing only one note have not made their accustomed early appearance, and I hear only the pleasant songs of more talented birds, all of them at some distance. I'm thinking that the noisy birds got whacked during the night. I'll bet owls did it. Thanks, owls.

Sometime since yesterday evening, the small spider departed from its perch on my wall, and is nowhere to be seen. I miss it, but less than I would were it not for the fact that an even smaller spider is now swinging from a silken thread (invisible to me) which hangs from the lamp adjacent to the computer. This one is difficult to keep track of, as it is literally smaller than the head of a pin, and is somewhat of an acrobat. It takes me a while to get my eyes to focus on it while it darts from place to place, or even while it is still. I have the feeling this one won't stay around for long, though. Should I chance to sneeze in its direction, the gust would send it to an entirely different part of the room, I'm sure.

Due to having been wakened by the earthquake yesterday, I found myself slipping into unintended naps last night, and now I am less tired than I had expected to be. I had hoped that the accidental early waking might lead to my getting to sleep before daylight, but this was not to be. Maybe there will be another earthquake today. If so, I'd like it to arrive about two o'clock. Noon was simply too early.

Oh, there's one of the noisy birds chirping. I guess the owls didn't do a whack job after all.

Change

A single gardenia has bloomed. Soon there will be many. I think of the gardenia as the anti-jasmine. It's strange that my response to these two summer flowers should be opposite, as both of them release a powerful, sweet scent which is pervasive and enduring, and they are not particularly dissimilar at first sniff. Yet the fragrance of jasmine pleases me, and the smell of gardenia does not. The first I find alluring and exotic, the second cloying and oppressive. In the odor of the gardenia, I sense a deep note which is somehow animal. Jasmine calls to mind soft air, rustling leaves and trickling fountains in some exotic garden. Gardenia summons an image of heavy breathing in a close and crowded room. Jasmine liberates, and gardenia stultifies.

Tonight, the scent of jasmine still dominates the air, but its blossoms will soon shrivel, just as the gardenias are opening. June will pass into July. It will be like going to one of those events which one is obligated to attend, but which are never enjoyable. The room will be full of people attempting to conceal the odor of their own decay by wearing too much scent. They will fail. Unlike the jasmine, which, at the end of its season, simply vanishes as though simply carried away on a breeze, gardenia always bears the smell of its decline, which grows stronger as the month passes. July always smells of rotting flowers.

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Well, that was dismal! So as not to end on such a note, here is a link (snagged from scottobear:

A panoramic view of Paris by night (14929 x 526 pixels, 1.8MB) Took me twelve minutes to download on dial-up, and well worth it.