rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Even Later

My updates are coming a bit later each night. I have identified the source of this problem. At 24 hours, the days are simply too short. There is too much to do and a day of 24 hours provides too little time in which to get it all done. Thus, I have decided to find a way to slow the rotation of the planet, so that I'll have an extra hour or two each day. I'm not sure how to go about doing it, though. This is one of those times when I wish that I'd paid more attention in math class. I'm sure that math would be a very useful tool for anyone attempting to discover how the speed of earth's rotation might be adjusted. And then there's also the fact that taking on this task will use up even more of the time of which I already have too little. Nevertheless, I am determined. I must have longer days! Earth's rotation must be slowed!

If I were a hawk, my feelings about the day's length might be different. This evening, I saw a trio of them gliding and circling above the pine trees beyond which the sun must have then been setting. The sun had been out to display itself for a while, but the scattered clouds had gathered together and thickened once again, preventing yet another sunset. The hawks didn't seem to mind. They soared and swooped and glided, scribing circles and helices and figure eights against the scudding marbled sky, heedless of both the fading light and of the soft rain which had begun to fall. Hawks, I think, don't much concern themselves with the speed of earth's rotation. This makes it all the more strange that, as I watched them, I thought that I felt its turning slow, and even pause for a moment.

Meanwhile, a small bird of some sort had perched on the power cable strung across my front yard. It bobbed and turned, back and forth, appearing to look first up at the soaring hawks and then down at me, and opened its small beak to emit a remarkably piercing chirp, again and again. The hawks wheeled and sped west at at last, toward the invisible sunset. The small bird remained on the wire, chirping, until I turned and went back into the house. As I closed the door, the bird flew into the gathering darkness, letting a silence fall with the soft and soundless rain. I wonder if that bird was talking to me?
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