Today will be a busy day, but busy is not all bad. I dislike losing some of my day to travel, but that's part of the puzzle, I suppose.
Sometimes the days melt away. Sometimes they just vanish. You remember looking up into the sky and seeing shapes. But sometimes you look up into the sky and just see clouds.
My father's father had an artesian well. The water always tasted alive but ever so slightly mossy. The water spouted from a pipe placed in the ground, into a little concrete thing like a cistern.
I wonder if the water still flows.
"Watch out for snakes!", my father would always say, "you'll step on a snake". I never stepped on a snake. I almost did, once, in an alley near our house. I felt a surge of fear, and threw a spelling book at the snake, and ran.
When you look through a small refracting telescope, you can see the Sea of Storms on the moon in some detail. I think of all the craters that passing meteorites inflict. I imagine the way that something strikes surface, and all that happens is that soundless dust kicks up. I've known that soundless dust, somehow, flying everywhere, without any story to tell.
