Subject Line Goes Here

I've grown so averse to letting cold air into my room at night that I've been unable to fire up Sluggo in quite some time. As Sluggo alone holds my old Juno service, and I download all the mail from my Juno address onto his hard drive, I fear the quantity of mail that may be piling up there. I think I'll have to endure the cold room for one night, just to get that in-box emptied out. Most likely nothing in it will be important, but I don't like leaving it there.

blackcustard's moody photograph in this entry sent me looking for architect H.H. Richardson on the Internet, and ended up at his wikipedia entry. It's a fairly limited article, but it is accompanied by a decent collection of recent public domain photographs of his buildings-- none of them, alas, as evocative as Matt's photo of a lesser (but still interesting) building by one of Richardson's comtemporaries.

With luck, it might cloud up again today. The eastern sky currently displays some clouds which are flushing a lurid pink as dawn approaches. I might wake to the pleasant sound of rain again. I always appreciate it more when it's been gone for a couple of days.

Cool

Yup, rain again, and moody gray sky. Little splashes of color (like the pale purple of the demented gladiolus that insists on blooming in January) leap out on gray winter days. So does even the slight hint of red which accompanied the sunset this evening. The dim light also enhances the aspect of the bare trees. Wet, the bony, knotted branches and delicate tracery of twigs are dark, and decorated with hanging beads of water which catch the filtered light and magnify it, providing a delightful contrast to the brooding clouds. I never get tired of looking at it.

As much as I enjoy the winter landscape, the cold and damp please me less than they once did. They now provoke various twinges in various bones and joints, distracting me from the ignorance I once enjoyed of not being aware of the existence of those bones and joints. I can no longer imagine that I am a disembodied consciousness floating through the world. Well, a disembodied consciousness that can smell the rain and the freshness of the air, anyway. And go in the house and have a tasty cup of hot tea. I can no longer imagine that I am a selectively disembodied consciousness floating thought he world.

I found a whole web site about macaws. I just wish there were more pictures.