||[May. 20th, 2018|11:02 pm]
Too little sleep and a shopping trip left me without energy this evening. I haven't felt like doing anything but watch television, which is unfortunate as our PBS stations decided not to provide any English people murdering one another tonight. There was only an American costume drama, entirely free of (on-screen) slaughter. The fact that the Civil War was going on off-screen was no help. Even had it been happening on-screen, war lacks the subtlety of murder, and purely American war is even worse. |
Anyway, I'll probably end up going to sleep early tonight. The showers that were predicted for tonight a few days ago will surely fail to materialize, and thus I have nothing to stay up for. I certainly don't want to stay awake simply to bore myself by writing dull things, which is what I inevitably end up doing when I'm exhausted. Better to go to sleep and dream dull dreams, which will leave no embarrassing trace on the Internet.
by Naomi Shihab Nye
A man leaves the world
and the streets he lived on
grow a little shorter.
One more window dark
in this city, the figs on his branches
will soften for birds.
If we stand quietly enough evenings
there grows a whole company of us
standing quietly together.
Overhead loud grackles are claiming their trees
and the sky which sews and sews, tirelessly sewing,
drops her purple hem.
Each thing in its time, in its place,
it would be nice to think the same about people.
Some people do. They sleep completely,
waking refreshed. Others live in two worlds,
the lost and remembered.
They sleep twice, once for the one who is gone,
once for themselves. They dream thickly,
dream double, they wake from a dream
into another one, they walk the short streets
calling out names, and then they answer.