Hay viento

Night wind comes, driving fresh clouds, making the pines whisper or howl and the new oak leaves shudder. Mist swirls and slicks the pavement to a dark sheen. The glimmering sky is shot with streaks of lost moonlight, the clouds tumbled like dark sheets on a restless sleeper's bed. Damp hours roar or murmur past, and gray light slowly gains a purchase on the tumultuous world. Gradually calmed, the revealed landscape stills at last, and quiet prevails, and a calm sufficient to induce the morning birds to sing. My walk is a strew of faded camellia petals.

Bleh

Wow. Opera actually crashed and ate my entry. That's rare.

Anyway. The lilies that bloomed the other day would be regretting it now, if lilies had regrets. Spring visited for two days, then presumably found something better to do elsewhere. It's raining again, and it's cold.

The oven has been replaced, but too late for dinner, so I had peanut butter, and now I have a headache from eating late and inadequately.

Today was some sort of anniversary I was going to say something about, and now I've completely forgotten what it was. Oh well.

Turning out the lights now.