The sky is being bipolar today, brightening for awhile, then turning dark and broody. The rain ended hours ago, but massy clouds keep rolling by until it seems the north must be crammed full of them by now. The shade they drag is chilly, and many of the town's chimneys are releasing wreaths of smoke. It is sufficiently pungent that I can now and then catch a whiff of it. Nothing else can penetrate my now-stuffy nose. I've barely sneezed, and I had only a day or so of runny nose, but mostly I've had a sore throat, so this isn't quite like any common cold or virus I've had before. If it's something entirely new, I wonder if they'll name it after me? Sorry, I can't make it today. I've come down with a Rejectomorph.
OK, brain still prone to weirdness. On to else.
Behind the Inculpable Trees
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Behind the inculpable trees Slowly the old Fatality Works out her silent face. Wrinkles are drawing that way . . . What down here a bird screeches Bends off as a woe-line At the hard soothsaying mouth.
O and the soon-to-be lovers Smile on each other,ignorant of farewells. Over them sets and rises Starlike their destiny, Night-inspired. Still unoffered to them as experience It dwells Poised in the course of spheres, An airy configuration.