52/114: After

[rejectomorph]

Lately I've been doing bad stuff to my neck in my sleep again, and the soreness is now lasting all day. I need to be very careful with every movement, lest I make it much worse. So it plays havoc with every aspect of my life, and I get next to nothing done. This would be bad enough for a normal person, but for an old, stupid guy it's an ongoing catastrophe. I end up sleeping a lot, and then get my neck farther out of whack each time. A vicious circle. And that's why this entry is so late. It's a wonder I'm doing this at all. Anything at all, really. And now it's going to be Monday and I'll have to go outside and check the mailbox again. Unless the fire weather does its worst and the entire state burns down. For me, it might be worth it.




Sunday Verse

Night After Bushfire

by Judith Wright


There is no more silence on the plains of the moon
and time is no more alien there, than here.
Sun thrust his warm hand down at the high noon,
but all that stirred was the faint dust of fear.

Charred Death upon the rock leans his charred bone
and stares at death from sockets black with flame.
Man, if he come to brave that glance alone,
must leave behind his human home and name.

Carry like a threatened thing your soul away,
and do not look too long to left or right,
for he whose soul wears the strict chains of day
will lose it in this landscape of charcoal and moonlight.