The gray cat napped in the back yard for a while, but kept his distance. When I went indoors he came to eat and drink. I think he's gone into the shed where there's a box with a blanket in it. It will be a good place for him to recuperate, and stay out of trouble. This evening I bought a couple of cans of soft food, so he'll have a change from the dry stuff I usually leave out. I have to wait until I see him out there, though, and can make sure he's alone. If I just put it out, the other feral cat will probably come and eat it.
Another chilly night has begun. All afternoon the white clouds drifted, their enormous shadows dimming the woods then departing to let the sunlight sparkle on the green needles of the pines and the gray bark of bare oaks. Then dusk, and the moon was already risen, nearly full. The woods turned to silhouettes and the frogs began croaking. Any day now, crickets.
Never Again The Same
by James Tate
Speaking of sunsets,
last night's was shocking.
I mean, sunsets aren't supposed to frighten you, are they?
Well, this one was terrifying.
People were screaming in the streets.
Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful.
It wasn't natural.
One climax followed another and then another
until your knees went weak
and you couldn't breathe.
The colors were definitely not of this world,
peaches dripping opium,
pandemonium of tangerines,
inferno of irises,
all swirling and churning, swabbing,
like it was playing with us,
like we were nothing,
as if our whole lives were a preparation for this,
this for which nothing could have prepared us
and for which we could not have been less prepared.
The mockery of it all stung us bitterly.
And when it was finally over
we whimpered and cried and howled.
And then the streetlights came on as always
and we looked into one another's eyes?
ancient caves with still pools
and those little transparent fish
who have never seen even one ray of light.
And the calm that returned to us
was not even our own.