December 4th, 2003

caillebotte_man at his window

Late Again

The clouds are returning after a single clear day, most of which I missed due to waking up too late. They began gathering before the moon set, and made for a pleasant skyscape, reflecting the light from their drifting shapes. But I fear the rain will return before the leaves have dried sufficiently to be easily raked. In any case, I may not have time to rake them this afternoon, as I will probably sleep too late again (given that it is already past six o'clock and I show no sign of being tired) and, whenever I wake, I'll need to waste time on errands to the other side of town, and by the time I return no daylight may be remaining. Short days are the curse of December, but the long nights are so deeply peaceful! And isn't it great not to be hot, Sluggo? (He says "yes.")
caillebotte_man at his window

Dealt With

Late Thursday afternoon is a good time to do banking. The carpeted expanse is almost empty, and so quiet you can hear every not of the tinned music spilling from the speakers in the acoustic tiled ceiling. (This last is not a perk -- just something I noticed.) A couple of bored tellers were sitting there, doing things with their computers, probably nothing to do with banking. Maybe they were updating their LiveJournals. But I was in and out in five minutes, enough time for the stormy gray afternoon to fall into dim evening. Then up the old main street with its shop windows full of Christmas lights, and through the narrow roads crowded by looming ponderosas, headlights of passing cars reflecting in the wet pavement and illuminating the shiny swags of utility wires. I like riding on rainy nights.

But, as I suspected, late waking and errands prevented me from raking the leaves, and now they spread in a sodden mass that completely hides the lawn. Almost all the leaves have left the oaks and dogwoods, and they lie in brown patches along the streets. A bit of color remains here and there on hardier specimens, but autumn this year has been quick to pass. I can smell its last breath on the cold night air. The mulberry tree, of course, remains as defiant as ever, and still sports many green leaves among the yellow which still cling to its branches. When I see how many already cover the ground, I wonder at the profligacy of a tree that as yet looks almost fully clothed. If mulberry trees grew money, there would be hyper inflation every fall.

There was another paragraph here, but it went off into a stupid rant, so I deleted it. I don't want to come back and read that some day, if I ever come back to read any of this journal. So far, I haven't. Uh... have I missed anything?