May 2nd, 2004

caillebotte_man at his window

NIghts too Short

The air hums. The pines have caught a fragment of the moon. The pavement makes my footsteps silence the crickets. I cannot sleep. Again, I am up too late, and hear woodpeckers drilling as gray light conceals the last stars. I wonder when I will sleep in darkness again?

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hopper_summer_evening

Nightfall

Sluggo wouldn't let me post in the heat. That's going to be more and more of a problem, what with summer coming, and coming this early. I badly need to replace this machine. Anyway, here's what I didn't post:

Once the last patch of light has left the lawn, and western walls no longer display flickering leaf-shadows, the air at last begins to bring a hint of coolness. All the bright, languid hours now recede, trailing an insect buzz, the memory of afternoon as vaporous as the thin clouds which whiten the faded sky. Dusk rises like a tide, engulfs the woodlands, darkens all the rustling lawns, stills birds, closes flowers, and wraps the world in shade. Soon, patches of light again appear on the lawn as the moon emerges, and all the shrouded crickets chorus, and moths are released to circle the porch lights. Night sends perfumes from its concealed flowers, and serenity descends like starlight on a place dense with secrets.