Pic

This is a propos of absolutely nothing. Just a photograph, from the short days of winter. On the third day of summer.
The latter of which will be gone soon enough and the former of which will be here even sooner.
Isn't this a gorgeous sky?

Patter and play

Raining very softly this evening as Twist and I walked through the park.

How do you describe the sound of billions of gently falling raindrops on a canopy made of young green leaves? To me, it sounds like a lazy, jittery "shrrrr" with an occasional gentle "splat."

Rarely for her, Twist was unfazed by the barometric conditions; I think they were all perfectly aligned to soothe, not scare. (At least if you are a high-strung brindle girl greyhound.)

We rounded the first path loop by the ditch and saw four tween boys playing a jumping game. I knew it was a game because they were calling out very specific rules to each other, rather, I should say the head boy was calling and the others were following. Must jump so far, no touching branches, can't land in water, etc., etc.

It's been a long time since I was a child and I don't remember what the rule-making in play is supposed to work out. Seems so dull to me now. Being a grown-up has plenty enough rules.

I liked better the daydreaming part of being a kid. Good practice for figuring out what spring rain in the park sounds like.

Moth

You are dark brown and about half the size of a pinkie finger. With a couple of lighter brown spots low on the wings. Let's call you Moth. You have been living for at least a week in the women's restroom, east, of the second floor at 34 Boulevard of the Allies.

Living motionless. For days on end.

On Wednesday, you move from bathroom stall window (this is a very old building) to the counter by the bathroom mirror. And remain motionless after that.

Then, late in Thursday afternoon, I go in to brush my teeth and you are grooming yourself, then fluttering. Up and around. Grey ceramic tile walls on one side, fluorescent lights above. A window on the other side of this old room, but your are too far from it to escape, if you want to. Fluttering away from me as I contemplate catching you in a coffee cup. (Yes, I am at work here.) Moth-like, you head for the fluorescent lights and rest.

Today is Friday and you are gone. I had pushed open a window, so maybe you flew out from four to six walls and escaped. Hope you fluttered to good place, Moth.

Ray Bradbury, thanks very much

Dear Ray Bradbury,
Thank you. For transporting me into fantastic worlds that were so near to me.
For "The October Country" (Uncle Einar), which will always be my favorite collection, and for "The Illustrated Man," of which my favorite is "The Last Night of the World."
Thank you, Ray. For summer nights of fireflies, for circus mirrors and rockets, for illustrated men, for hope, and for the mysteries of the deep and quiet Illinois summer night.
Much, much love,
Katy