Either I've had sex with an succubus, or I've let my fingernails get too long and have deeply scratched my neck and shoulders in my sleep. I woke with linear scabs there. I've also got pfeffernusse cookies, which I shouldn't eat. I wonder who the crazy German baker was who first decided to make cookies with pepper in them, and then dip them in powdered sugar? Was he in league with the Devil? Could there be a relationship between the presence of these cookies and the succubus? I'm sure the cookies, locus of unnatural desire that they are, attract all sorts of evil things. I'll avoid looking at the tempting package, and I'll trim my nails. If I wake with scratches again tomorrow, I'll know what the problem is.
Those clouds which brought a comforting grayness to the early morning failed to provide rain, despite the scent of its impending arrival which then permeated the air. Instead, they thinned and grew mottled, lingering until driven away by the rising moon. Mars is less than one degree distant from the moon tonight, and looking quite pallid. Mars looks the way I feel. Having the furnace on all the time is diminishing my energy (unless that's been done by the succubus, of course), but the alternative is to have my joints ache with the cold. Aging turns out to have been a bad idea.
The wind has been persistent this December. It's seldom been very strong, but it rises almost every night and typically lasts for hours. This is beneficial, as it is coming from the high deserts to the north, and thus keeping the nights warmer than they would otherwise be. I enjoy listening to it. When it stirs distant groves, it sounds like a river, and when it comes near it rustles the remaining oak leaves which, being as dry as they are, then make a sound like a shaman's rattle. It's very soothing.
One cookie, I think. Just one, and a cup of tea, and then go listen to the ghosts dance in the wind.