Tuesday, November 23, 2010

"To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, they that edit it and read it are old women over their tea."
~Henry David Thoreau

News is brutal. It clamors against my head, seeking entrance. I close my eyes and feel it pressing agianst my eyelids, in and out, in and out as it tumbles down around me. To turn off the radio would do little good at this point - the news is still there, waiting, lurking; it will rise up out of memory when the moon is bright, to be turned over in my mind until the stars have crossed the sky.

The news itself - individual stories - are largely unimportant, it is News altogether that continues on: an unending procession of wonder, worry, and inanity. Today I am told of Archbishop Dolan, of the President - who gives many speeches, of healthcare and international implications. I'm lost in news as I boil eggs for my salad and watch evening change the light.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

"No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place."
~Edna St. Vincent Millay

The wind has been bitter these past nights. It waits for the darkness to begin, then gathers it's power and pounds against the door. The wind brings to mind dreams from the summer, of ghosts who haunt our land, gathering under the birches and watching us as we set down roots.

Birches are haunting trees. In the daylight they dance like happy ghosts, or naked spirits, cold in the wind, but laughing. I like to put my hand on their white bodies and feel a piece of the joy. But they are too pale, to cold to be anything but specters in the night - white hands reaching out to touch, dancing terribly under the moon. I imagine my dream-ghosts wandering the birch paths at night, some with malice, others with kindness.

We've been missing the moon for over a week now. The days are dark and grey, the nights are darker, with no moon to light the sky, and no stars to smile at. I am hoping that todays clear sky will stretch into tomorrow, and through the weekend. We need time to dry out, and I would love a night of peaceful sleep, without the howl of wind and the pounding, icy rain on the roof.