Sorry. For a minute, the ghost of Gertrude Stein tried to take control of my keyboard.
The moon is now where I can sort of see it from my window. It is floating once again in luminous haze, silhouetting the pines, but the sky is now cerulean, soon to turn bright. The owl is still hooting.
There's an odd smell in the air, a bit like creosote. Maybe somebody is burning old railroad ties or telephone poles in their fireplace. Whatever it is, it reeks.
The big toe which lost most of its nail a couple of months ago hasn't bothered me for a while, but last night it began to feel sore. I hope it doesn't plan on becoming infected, at this late date. I have other, entirely different plans for that toe.
My brain feels refrigerated. I think it's begun hibernating. The rest of me will go to sleep now.