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rejectomorphDawn is near, and it is not yet cool. I can't even fetch e-mail because the program crashes. Outrage Express. This summer will not give up without a fight, but Sluggo will.
Though the sky is bright, not a single bird has made a sound. The stillness is so profound that it seems as though town and forest have been placed under some enchantment which only I have escaped.
I'm recalling a moment when the moon was low, and the only shaft of its light to pass the wall of trees silvered the boles of two pines next door, and illuminated a single window where I thought I saw a ghostly face. All else was darkness.
I hope there is a newspaper lying on the driveway. If not, I will worry.
Though the sky is bright, not a single bird has made a sound. The stillness is so profound that it seems as though town and forest have been placed under some enchantment which only I have escaped.
I'm recalling a moment when the moon was low, and the only shaft of its light to pass the wall of trees silvered the boles of two pines next door, and illuminated a single window where I thought I saw a ghostly face. All else was darkness.
I hope there is a newspaper lying on the driveway. If not, I will worry.
