rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Tonight I saw the moonlight turn a white picket fence to a row of bleached bones. I don't know why I never noticed that resemblance before. All night, I've had two fans running -- one to bring cool night air into the room, and the other to blow that air toward Sluggo. I don't know if it's worked or not, but I know that my ears are ringing with the noise of it. I don't get on well with machinery. I might have fit in better with the world as it was in some earlier age, when the creaking of a windmill, the puffing of a blacksmith's bellows or the whir of a potter's or spinster's wheel would have been the most mechanical of sounds. Of course, in such an age I would most likely have died of some childhood disease, so I wouldn't have enjoyed the relative serenity long. I'll put up with the noisy fans and the cranky computer.

At least I get to go out now and then to hear the soft chirping of the crickets, my favorite insects. Well, perhaps butterflies are my favorite insects, though they make no music that I can hear. I guess that crickets are my favorite nocturnal insects. In any case, there numbers are greatly increased now, so that their songs overlap, and rise and fall like the rhythm of rain. It is very restful.

Each night, the contents of the room are diminished. Soon, it will be quite spacious here. I wonder if I'll be able to stop? Perhaps I'll become so enamored of discarding things that I'll end up emptying the place out entirely. No, wait. I can't discard Sluggo, or the CD player, or the bed that pretends to be a couch when I'm not sleeping in it, and I must keep a minimum of clothing in the closet. The CDs' would have to stay too -- though not all of them -- and there are a few items such as pictures and a few favorite books with which I'd rather not part. But I'm sure I could make the place almost empty. I'll never use most of the stuff that's in here, anyway. Oh, it feels good to get rid of things.

Almost the time when light wakes the first birds now. I will turn off the fans for a few minutes of peace before the avian din begins. Say good-night, Sluggo.

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