The wind had died down by the time I woke up this morning, and there have been nothing but gentle breezes since. The yard is a mess, though, and the rain gutters are stuffed to overflowing so will have to be cleaned out before the next rain. As the next rain is nowhere in sight there probably won't be a problem, but I'd still like to get it done tomorrow. Rain gutters filled with leaves and pine needles are a hazard in the event of a brush fire, so the sooner the better.
Despite the unintentional nap I still feel tired, and as there's nothing much on television tonight I'll probably see if I can go back to sleep soon. That will probably mean waking up too early tomorrow, but if I do then I can get an early start on cleaning out the rain gutters. Nothing is scheduled for tomorrow so maybe I can get a nap at a more reasonable hour then. But tonight I'm just dopey.
by Kenneth Koch
One day the Nouns were clustered in the street. An Adjective walked by, with her dark beauty. The Nouns were struck, moved, changed. The next day a Verb drove up, and created the Sentence. Each Sentence says one thing—for example, "Although it was a dark rainy day when the Adjective walked by, I shall remember the pure and sweet expression on her face until the day I perish from the green, effective earth." Or, "Will you please close the window, Andrew?" Or, for example, "Thank you, the pink pot of flowers on the window sill has changed color recently to a light yellow, due to the heat from the boiler factory which exists nearby." In the springtime the Sentences and the Nouns lay silently on the grass. A lonely Conjunction here and there would call, "And! But!" But the Adjective did not emerge. As the Adjective is lost in the sentence, So I am lost in your eyes, ears, nose, and throat— You have enchanted me with a single kiss Which can never be undone Until the destruction of language.