It's all just surpassingly weird. The day was warm, and the evening is mild, with only the slightest breeze stirring. There must be some wind higher up, though, as the vapor trail of a jet that flew by after sunset began to deform rapidly, soon becoming a series of pink squiggles reflecting the light of the vanished sun. It shared the cerulean sky with bright Venus, which is sinking toward the horizon, soon to be followed by the red dot of Mars. Meanwhile, Jupiter is rising in the east, though I won't be able to see it until it clears the pine trees. Venus and Mars will be in conjunction on the 21st, and I have little doubt of being able to see that event. The forecast predicts mostly clear skies for days and nights on end.
Today I didn't wake up until noon, so lunch was late, and a while ago I decided that, in lieu of dinner, I would have a slice of that key lime pie I bought Friday. It turned out not to be one of those lime-based things that I find unpleasant, so I'll probably buy another one eventually, though not of the same brand, which I found much too sweet. As for dinner, I might have something later, after eleven o'clock. From ten to eleven my television will be showing me English people murdering one another. That might cause me to work up an appetite.
The waking up at noon was a bit distressing, as I have some busy days coming up this week, and will have to be awake pretty early in the morning to deal with them. I'm thinking I really need to replace my broken alarm clock. Maybe they have something at K-mart. I'll see if I can arrange to get there tomorrow. It's Presidents Day, so maybe they'll even have a sale.
Oh, here's another one of those tiny flying insects, buzzing my monitor. How annoying the premature spring is.
Somewhere There is a Simple Life
by Anna Akhmatova
Somewhere there is a simple life and a world,
Transparent, warm and joyful. . .
There at evening a neighbor talks with a girl
Across the fence, and only the bees can hear
This most tender murmuring of all.
But we live ceremoniously and with difficulty
And we observe the rites of our bitter meetings,
When suddenly the reckless wind
Breaks off a sentence just begun —
But not for anything would we exchange this splendid
Granite city of fame and calamity,
The wide rivers of glistening ice,
The sunless, gloomy gardens,
And, barely audible, the Muse's voice.