Friday April 25, 2008
Graham is off to work this weekend, returning on Sunday afternoon/evening, depending on how much mess the line-dancers make of the bars. I shall do my best to be sensible with my food intake; I make no such promise on my wine. I’ll keep it to less than a bottle a day but more than that I shall not say.
Yesterday I finished off the transfer of the 2004 journals and removed them from the old site. I’m geared up to start on January 2005 but I may leave it until Graham gets back home–it’s the month in which dear old Harry Cat finished his story and I need a steady hand to pass over that hurdle.
Strange thing. A small owl is perched on the topmost part of a roof just a little way down the road. I can’t make out the type but he seems perfectly happy, taking a break from the nightly hunt before cwtching up for the daylight hours. A jolly good scheme, seems to me.
Flying at Night
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.
–Ted Kooser, Flying at Night
That opening phrase:
Above us, stars
is to die for.