You wouldn't believe how many of these I write in my head throughout the week, compositions that never see the other side of my eyes, forgotten before I could get them down. Misremembered, misheard, abandoned and aborted. All the things that are born and die in my head.
I can only imagine the smell.
Anecdotes too, the moments of my week, observed and occupied by me and worth noting, even for a day or two. And all my artificial mythology, as long as it's Monday and right after Sunday. I'm often reminded of a story or a legend or an adventure we've had, and it's been so long, and there've been so many, that I can't even remember what I meant in the first place, much less what happened.
Lots of sky lately, lots of sun and haze and even lightning. We rarely get lightning, one of my only complaints* about Eugene. Woke up from sitting in the sun with all my reds turned down, rods and cones off kilter. Everything was washed out and pale, like in an old movie. That doesn't happen every day.
*There's only a few...but they're big.
Lots of sky lately, lots of sun and haze and even lightning. We rarely get lightning, one of my only complaints* about Eugene. Woke up from sitting in the sun with all my reds turned down, rods and cones off kilter. Everything was washed out and pale, like in an old movie. That doesn't happen every day.
*There's only a few...but they're big.
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