The orchard, being bereft of foliage, allows flashes of headlights to reach me. Each car that passes reminds me that I'm not going anywhere tonight. As much as I enjoy solitude and silence, both need their opposites for contrast now and then, lest they grow distasteful from repetition. The most delightful of situations is wearying when inescapable, and my situation is not the most delightful. Though the day was a pleasing gray, and early night graced with a behazed crescent of moon, I find myself wishing for some time in a boisterous place, or a walk along a busy street, or some other such diversion from this enforced placidity. I find my brain going numb from lack of variety. My memory of the real world turns as vague as the light of the descended moon which now reflects from the indistinct clouds.