no golf makes for a strange friday

2003-02-21, 1:52 a.m.

this morning there were clouds that were rolling ove the hills like an avalanche, a white so bright that it hurt to stare at. i kept an eye on nothing, and i noticed that time did fly, extroadinary pieces of daylight and darkness playing chess on the earth.

this afternoon, the city wore a bronze collar, tinting the sky so that i thought of the romans. i thought of the condition of this area 2,ooo years ago, and i thought of this road leading to Rome.

at sunset, the treeline was an EEG graph, spurts of brain acitivity shattering the sky, cracking apart at the seams; this must have been what the divorce of pangea felt like.

and now, outside is just a bubble of light pollution, spectacular shoots of wood and leaf bounding up in the night. i stand on the slate, feeling the freeze beneath my socks, and i wait for tthe winds to become fierce so the clouds will rip apart and show me the moon again, so she can sing me my lullaby