rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Reset Eighteen, Day Twelve

Despite getting close to eight hours of sleep I was tired all day Saturday, though I still managed to fix a large dinner. Too large, in the end, as even though I am stuffed there will be leftovers to store and I still haven't cleaned up the aftermath. I'll be wanting to get to sleep fairly soon, which is convenient, since this is the night that Daylight Saving Time bites a chunk out of. Maybe I won't wake up too late today after all.

There is now a winter weather advisory for northern California, to be in effect from Sunday night through Monday morning. The storm headed this way is cold and cloud bring snow as low as 1000 feet in the Cascades and 1,500 feet in the northern Sierras. It might snow in Paradise again, if the storm is strong enough, but the heaviest snowfall is expected in Shasta and Siskiyou counties. So we will get more water for Lake Shasta, at least. Rain fall in Chico is unpredictable, but we're likely to get at least a bit.

Oops, there goes the clock on the computer. I'll have to dig out the instructions for changing the clock on the microwave. I can never remember how it works.

Sunday Verse

The Makers

by Howard Nemerov

Who can remember back to the first poets,
The greatest ones, greater even than Orpheus?
No one has remembered that far back
Or now considers, among the artifacts,
And bones and cantilevered inference
The past is made of, those first and greatest poets,
So lofty and disdainful of renown
They left us not a name to know them by.

They were the ones that in whatever tongue
Worded the world, that were the first to say
Star, water, stone, that said the visible
And made it bring invisibles to view
In wind and time and change, and in the mind
Itself that minded the hitherto idiot world
And spoke the speechless world and sang the towers
Of the city into the astonished sky.

They were the first great listeners, attuned
To interval, relationship, and scale,
The first to say above, beneath, beyond,
Conjurors with love, death, sleep, with bread and wine,
Who having uttered vanished from the world
Leaving no memory but the marvelous
Magical elements, the breathing shapes
And stops of breath we build our Babels of.


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