Retro Blog #1
Before I discovered the world of online blogging (thanks again newy!) I kept a journal of my thoughts on pretty much a daily basis. Since the blog, this has stopped. So I'm going to enter the old journal entries onto the blog in an effort to archive them. That way ten years from now they'll still be around.
11/30/04 5:40 P.M.
I'm back at the picnic table- an unearthly gloom hangs around me as the light slowly dies. There are no birds this time, only the slow and steady hum of crickets. It is brisk out but I am bundled up in a scarf and hat, so I barely notice it.
Another stray, this time an old black-and-white with a predilection for psychotic behavior greets me. He, too, is a large tom, so large that he shakes the picnic table when he brushes against my feet. I say "psychotic" because he has the incredible ability to switch from amicable to vicious for no apparent reason. So I pet him with a light hand and a constant eye, for I do not trust him.
He has bitten me in the past, two deep puncture wounds that I stared at in fascination before the red blood swelled from my flesh.
If he is discouraged or apologetic, he does not show it. Even now, he throws his full weight against me as I write, exposing his large white stomach to me. He wants to play. But he is wild, and even in jest he might give me a scratch that would require stitches so I don't chance it.
It is darker now. Only eleven minutes have passed and yet so much has changed. It seems like I've been out here much longer. Time appears to be Nature's slave, at least for the moment.
It is amazing the detail my eyes can still see. Everything still appears, only itself in a darker image, as if someone had played with the brightness. It is thrilling to watch the world grow dark around me. 5:56; 5:58; I'm quite sure that no one from the townhomes would see me unless I chanced to move. Suddenly I hear what appears to be church bells to my left. They are beautiful.
11/30/04 5:40 P.M.
I'm back at the picnic table- an unearthly gloom hangs around me as the light slowly dies. There are no birds this time, only the slow and steady hum of crickets. It is brisk out but I am bundled up in a scarf and hat, so I barely notice it.
Another stray, this time an old black-and-white with a predilection for psychotic behavior greets me. He, too, is a large tom, so large that he shakes the picnic table when he brushes against my feet. I say "psychotic" because he has the incredible ability to switch from amicable to vicious for no apparent reason. So I pet him with a light hand and a constant eye, for I do not trust him.
He has bitten me in the past, two deep puncture wounds that I stared at in fascination before the red blood swelled from my flesh.
If he is discouraged or apologetic, he does not show it. Even now, he throws his full weight against me as I write, exposing his large white stomach to me. He wants to play. But he is wild, and even in jest he might give me a scratch that would require stitches so I don't chance it.
It is darker now. Only eleven minutes have passed and yet so much has changed. It seems like I've been out here much longer. Time appears to be Nature's slave, at least for the moment.
It is amazing the detail my eyes can still see. Everything still appears, only itself in a darker image, as if someone had played with the brightness. It is thrilling to watch the world grow dark around me. 5:56; 5:58; I'm quite sure that no one from the townhomes would see me unless I chanced to move. Suddenly I hear what appears to be church bells to my left. They are beautiful.
posted by Yorick at 8:14 AM
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