Blow II

I've got one of those inexplicable outbursts of nervous energy that makes me want to go striding about the dark streets, as though my joints weren't stiff and sore and my vision were still good enough to keep me from tripping over every slight obstacle and lump in the pavement-- or even to keep me on the pavement for that matter, and not go sliding off into the roadside ditch where I would lie like roadkill until morning when some commuter would find my dew-covered cadaver. It's moments such as this that I most miss living in a place with sidewalks and streetlights.

The cause of the energy is probably that electric autumn wind which spent the day frothing white clouds and scattering dried leaves and now makes the mulberry branch rub against the eaves like a big cat with a very rough purr. Autumn winds have always been inclined to make me desire the impossible, or the (at least) improbable. But wind keeps not blowing me to some other place, keeps not blowing the stiffness out of my joints, I wish it could, wish it could.

Late!

Here I am putzing around on teh interwebs hours after I intended to be done with this post. Now I can't even remember what I was going to say.

Oh, shameful of USC's Digital Archives to seduce me yet again!

I ought to be showering now.