All the clouds have gone and the stars sparkle. A single cricket continues to chirp long after the others have been silenced by the chilliness of the night air. Though the breeze is very slight, I hear the pines making a sound that is like a lawn sprinkler barely running. The air is curiously unscented, bringing not even so much as a trace of the grasses now drying in the nearby fields. I hear a distant car now and then, but the night is mostly quiet. The moon vanished long ago, and the east remains untouched by any premonition of dawn. Summer is slowly nodding off. Little more than a month of it remains. I enjoy the extra minutes of darkness its decline is bringing.
I am not so pleased about my missing toenail. It's probably my imagination, but that foot feels vaguely swollen now, especially near the afflicted toe. (Gooshyfoot?) I keep thinking that I ought to get some undyed socks. That's most likely pointless, but the thought returns again and again. The white sock as placebo. I also still think that the toe will probably kill me, but I've been expecting one body part or another to kill me for years. The toe will have to get in line. Many other parts have prior claims for revenge.
At least my hair follicles don't want to kill me. They only kill themselves.
I really don't like having parts of me falling apart.