November 23rd, 2005



Now it's been Marx Brothers movies. The television doesn't want me to get anything done at all. It doesn't even want me to go out and listen to the birds who are returning from the north. Sometimes the birds are loud enough to hear from inside, though, if they fly fairly low and right over the house. One of the interesting things about this time of year is that there's always a chance of hearing actual migrating ducks while "Duck Soup" is showing.

Brain still muddled, I'm not going to pester it for a couple of days. Everybody is probably going to be comatose anyway.


The perturbed night air twists and eddies, and is filled with the sound of dry leaves and the smell of wood smoke. Late summer has reclaimed the afternoons, for a while, but autumn keeps the nights. The cricket failed to chirp. Venus glows in the southwest, amid a scattering of twinkling stars. The waning moon will not rise for hours. It's easy to sense the approach of December. I stand watching the sky for a few minutes, and listening to the moans of the pines, and then I go indoors to make the teakettle whistle. It's going to be a very chilly night.