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rejectomorph

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Weakend [Aug. 19th, 2018|09:03 pm]
rejectomorph
No shopping trip today after all, thanks to transportation issues. It has been deferred until tomorrow afternoon. It's just as well, as it will be three or four degrees cooler tomorrow. That's not much, but it's something. And tonight should be a degree or two cooler than last night, so maybe I'll sleep a bit better.

The sky is back to being a bit smoky looking, though the smell is not reaching the ground, for which I am thankful. A thicker smoke layer meant a less vivid sunset, though the northern sky did take on a pleasant purple glow for a few minutes as the birds were bedding down. The mourning dove said goodnight, and the acorn woodpeckers bickered a bit, but now all has fallen silent. The crickets have not yet begun to buzz. It appears they like to wait for full darkness.

I'd planned on microwaving the last frozen lasagna tonight, but now I think I'll save it for tomorrow and just make some ramen. I have some mushrooms I need to get rid of before they turn brown and slimy, and they go well in ramen, with a few bits of carrot and some zucchini. It's a bit hot for ramen, but if those mushrooms have to wait two more days they'll be over the hill, and I can't think of anything else to use them in.

It's finally getting a bit cooler outside, and my open windows and fan are bringing a bit of that coolness in. But it's cooler in the living room, which has bigger windows and to fan vents, so I'm going in there to watch the television. It will drown out the crickets, who just started buzzing.




Sunday Verse



Cats


by Charles Baudelaire


Lovers, scholars— the fervent, the austere—
grow equally fond of cats, their household pride.
As sensitive as either to the cold,
as sedentary, though so strong and sleek,

your cat, a friend to learning and to love,
seeks out both silence and the awesome dark...
Hell would have made the cat its courier
could it have controverted feline pride!

Dozing, all cats assume the svelte design
of desert sphinxes sprawled in solitude,
apparently transfixed by endless dreams;

their teeming loins are rich in magic sparks,
and golden specks like infinitesmal sand
glisten in those enigmatic eyes.



–translated by Richard Howard
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