Sometimes I don't feel like hearing the keyboard tap. I'd rather hear pencil scratching paper. I get tired of the machine's humming fans and would rather hear the faint, infrequent sounds of night. The rustle of some small rodent passing by, or the call of a night bird, or the fall of a single leaf that breaks the immense stillness creates a moment in the hours, and the clock pauses, someone holds their breath, the world is frozen, focused on that one small sound. This happens only when there is silence to be broken, there, between words.
The exact moment when the sun is farthest south comes at 4:42 AM PST Tuesday morning. (If it goes farther, we're in trouble.) So, had the calendar not gotten screwed up, this would be New Year's Eve. Instead, it's just the tattered tail-end of autumn. But what the hell. I think I'll have a drink anyway. Then I have to put out the trash cans, because it's Monday. Happy Monday, everybody!