rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Out of Season

It's nice to have a warm day in winter, but when the first day of the year is almost balmy I worry that it might be an omen. The last couple of winters have been cold, and the last couple of summers have been fairly mild. If we get a mild winter we might get a hot summer, and I wouldn't like that— not to mention the dessication that would follow should the mild winter be dry, which is usually the case.

The only advantage to a mild winter is the lower utility bills, and a hot summer would wipe out any savings. As much as I dislike the cold, I'd be pleased to have a nice storm come through right now, even if it brought snow, but it looks like it's going to be nearly balmy all week. I hope the fruit and nut trees don't start blooming too soon.

The feral cats now have two new friends; the small black cat who appeared about the time the large black cat vanished, and a gray and white cat who is probably a half-sibling on their father's side. Both appear to be intact toms. Both have been eating here. The feral cats welcome both of them, but a couple of nights ago I heard a fight in the neighboring yard, and it was probably the two toms fighting. It wouldn't surprise me if more turned up. My yard has become a cat resort.

So this being Sunday, tomorrow is the official New Year's Day holiday. I resolve not to celebrate it. I'll celebrate Tuesday as head-yanking day, though. My first chiropractic adjustment of the year, and not a day too soon. My neck feels as though I'd been carrying a heavy bundle around on my head. Or furniture. Happy New Year.

Sunday Verse


by Charles Simic

Go inside a stone
That would be my way.
Let somebody else become a dove
Or gnash with a tiger's tooth.
I am happy to be a stone.

From the outside the stone is a riddle:
No one knows how to answer it.
Yet within, it must be cool and quiet
Even though a cow steps on it full weight,
Even though a child throws it in a river;
The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed
To the river bottom
Where the fishes come to knock on it
And listen.

I have seen sparks fly out
When two stones are rubbed,
So perhaps it is not dark inside after all;
Perhaps there is a moon shining
From somewhere, as though behind a hill—
Just enough light to make out
The strange writings, the star-charts
On the inner walls.

  • Reset Thirty-Five, Day Fifteen

    Well, I did it again with the midnight napping thing. Even though I got to sleep before sunrise Tuesday, I still ended up short of sleep because I…

  • Reset Thirty-Five, Day Fourteen

    Monday was sunny but cool, and I've sat here for two hours nodding off without thinking of a singe pertinent thing to say. I've been very tired, and…

  • Reset Thirty-Five Day Thirteen

    Sunday got very, very wet. It was raining when I went to sleep around eight o'clock in the morning and raining when I got up around four o'clock in…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.