Two nights ago, waking up at 4 a.m., a huge, luminescent harvest moon had transformed the bedroom window into a rectangle of soft silver light. Outside, the world lay clear, visible, not swallowed up in darkness. An owl flew past the barn.
Last night: with predictions of frost, tomato plants got covered, potted flowers went into the garage. After midnight, thick fog blotted out the moon, the sky, wiping out all visibility. This morning the temperature hovered around the freezing mark, the world outside lay quiet, nothing moving.
As I write this, the sun is trying to burn through, the morning attempting to get underway.
The last day of September, 2004.
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 9:33 AM [+]
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