Passing

The storm has passed. Sky swept clear of clouds, the gibbous moon's light sets water drops glittering on every leaf and twig. The night goes quiet, the insistent air is cold, and nothing stirs. On the pavement, a streak of silver imperceptibly advances as the shadow of the eaves retreats, exposing the brick porch floor. Each time I go out, the scene is slightly altered. The moon's noon comes just as the number of stars begins to diminish in the paling sky. The empty street revealed waits for its daily users. Not being among them, I let it leave my thoughts for now, and re-enter the warm house. The confined light shows me all the hoarded things and the walls and floor and ceiling which are not possessions any more than are the moon and stars. Rooms are merely places where clocks tick and the hour hand moves as slowly or as fast as a tree's or a roof gable's shadow. I walk through the house. I think nobody's home.

Cranky

Skip 75? No, seriously? This is Thursday, not Wednesday!

New neighbors have gone onto the bad neighbors list, along with Thuggish Neighbor and Sinister Neighbor. They get to be Rude Neighbors. They woke me up early with loud, thumpy noise from one of those car audio systems that vibrates windows from a block away. It was ten feet from my window. I'm surprised it didn't shatter. They obviously have too much money, if they can afford one of those things. They will need that money a few years from now, when they have to buy hearing aids before they turn 40.

Too little sleep makes me cranky. I'll shut up before I say something that shocks the agents assigned to spy on me. They, at least, are quiet and unobtrusive.