March 7th, 2002

caillebotte_man at his window

False Spring Fever

In spite of the distractions and disruptions around me, I find myself wandering too much into odd corners of my mind and reaching impasse after impasse. No matter that the garbage disposal has joined the television and the toaster in rebellion against me, I have no time for reality. I'm not even particularly pissed off about them. My muddled discontent is general and lacks any interest in the disintegration of the physical world. On the bright side, I now have my own specific against insomnia. If I am unable to sleep, all I need do is begin paying attention to my own thoughts. They are soporific, and put me to sleep in a short time. Perhaps I should just shut up for a few days. Clearly, I have nothing to say, and will say it repeatedly. Stop me before I speak again.
  • Current Music
    It Might As Well Be Spring
caillebotte_man at his window

Rumble, Rumble

Two days of rainstorms just came to an end with a spectacular thunderstorm, the first of the year, flinging masses of hail and sending the cats scurrying under the bed. In a matter of minutes, vast swaths of blue sky opened up and the sun turned the remaining clouds brilliant white and the wet streets and rooftops reflected its light. Dozens of birds are now screeching and singing and chattering in all the trees, and the cats have emerged from hiding, blinking their eyes and meowing at the door. I guess I'll get to go for a walk today.
caillebotte_man at his window

After the Rain

Walking through the field this afternoon, watching the clouds form and disolve over the mountains to the east, I heard the song of a meadowlark. I have rarely heard it in the mountains. Well, of course, it is called the meadowlark, not the forestlark. But when I used to wander through the undeveloped hills near my house in Los Angeles, I would hear this pleasant song frequently. I wonder what brings this bird here to shame the squawking jays with sweet notes?