rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The sky has chosen to clear, rather than drop anything on me. Thus, for the moment, it remains unlikely that I will have to fetch the snow shovel from its lair, and the Sunday newspaper has arrived and will not get wet if I leave it lay for a while. Or is that "...if I leave it lie for a while?" It is a newspaper, after all.

Each time I go out to look at the stars, and the soft light of the waning moon, icy breezes insinuate themselves under my clothes. I don't remain out for long, despite the pleasant scene. I am trying not to get chilled and risk having some virus take advantage of my state. I keep in mind that dental appointment Tuesday afternoon, and the fact that I have no desire to sneeze while one of those pointy devices is in my mouth.

But it is a lovely time of year, freezing or not. Bare, twiggy trees have opened the sky, and cast their shadowy filigree atop the pale tapestry of their own fallen leaves. The long nights are quiet, and I can pass the time mostly undistracted. The cat remains indoors, napping near a heater vent, and I need not listen for fights that must be broken up. It is easy enough to find the year's decline enjoyable, as long as the snow keeps its distance.

Sunday Verse

Wind Tossed Dragons

by Hsieh Ngao

The shadows of the cypress
On the moonlit avenue
To the abandoned palace
Weave in tangles on the road
Like great kelp in the depths of the sea.
When the palace was full of people
I used to see this all the time
And never noticed how beautiful it was.
Mid-Autumn full moon, the luminous night
Is like a boundless ocean. A wild
Wind blows down the empty birds' nests
And makes a sound like the waves of the sea
In the branches of the lonely trees.

-translated by Kenneth Rexroth

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