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rejectomorphSluggo got a nice de-frag, and now Outrage Express has become more unstable than ever. As I've said, computers hate me.
A while ago, I had to take what looked like a small, albino grasshopper outside. I don't know how it got into the house, but it was perched on the front of my CD player. It looked quite elegant, really; a pale, angular bug against the shiny black disc tray door. I would like to have kept it, but I know it would have been eaten by a cat, so I caught it in a tissue (gently, of course) and released it on the front lawn. May it thrive, whatever it is.
Though the clouds have not altogether dissipated, the night has cooled, and is more pleasant than the previous night. The waxing moon set early, and the long, moonless part of the night was punctuated by periods of soft wind which hummed in the pines. The wind is always at its best on the darkest nights, when its effects can barely be seen, but clearly heard. It creates a sense of vastness then, as though distant speech had been reduced to whispers running along the walls of an immense, darkened hall. And all the time, the crickets measured time, reminding me of the transience of all things human, thus filling me with delight.
A while ago, I had to take what looked like a small, albino grasshopper outside. I don't know how it got into the house, but it was perched on the front of my CD player. It looked quite elegant, really; a pale, angular bug against the shiny black disc tray door. I would like to have kept it, but I know it would have been eaten by a cat, so I caught it in a tissue (gently, of course) and released it on the front lawn. May it thrive, whatever it is.
Though the clouds have not altogether dissipated, the night has cooled, and is more pleasant than the previous night. The waxing moon set early, and the long, moonless part of the night was punctuated by periods of soft wind which hummed in the pines. The wind is always at its best on the darkest nights, when its effects can barely be seen, but clearly heard. It creates a sense of vastness then, as though distant speech had been reduced to whispers running along the walls of an immense, darkened hall. And all the time, the crickets measured time, reminding me of the transience of all things human, thus filling me with delight.
