rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Reset Thirteen, Day Seventeen.

Saturday was, as predicted, a bit hotter, edging into what for me is the uncomfortable zone. There was some odor of smoke in the air, though it wasn't so thick as to obscure the clouds that drifted by and, toward evening, became an unbroken, autumnal gray slate, much at odds with the lingering heat.

The birds are migrating again. Tonight I've heard several flocks passing south, and I wonder what they must think seeing so much land aflame. Flying over the valley they will be able to avoid the ravaged areas, but there used to be flocks flying over Paradise when I lived there, so there might be some passing over various burned zones now too. Do you suppose birds have prophesy? If so, these days they might be thinking, well, it won't be long now and it will all be ours again.

I still haven't made arrangements to go banking and shopping Monday. That absolutely must be done today, or I will be sending my rent check out too late again this month. I also absolutely must remember to buy postage stamps this time. Gee, I miss the days when I had a brain, with a memory and everything. Joni Mitchell was right. You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone.

Oh, and there was no rain today. Big surprise. There's none in the long range forecast, either, but there are some days in the nineties, and some days with fairly strong winds coming up. We could sure do without that. I hope no migrating geese get cooked.

Sunday Verse

Autumn Day

by Rainer Maria Rilke

Lord: it is time. The summer was so immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials,
and let loose the wind in the fields.

Bid the last fruits to be full,
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.


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