Wings That Are Beautiful But From Which Flight Does Not Arise

I hate the nights I cannot sleep well and last night was one of them and I drifted around the house like a moth in my ancient white cotton nightgown, the dogs looking up at me curiously whenever I passed one of them, sleeping on a rug. I finally settled into the guest room with an old copy of Oxford American because I'd left my Alexandra Fuller book where I couldn't get to it without waking Mr. Moon and I knew he was having a hard time sleeping too.

It's going to be hot again today- up into the nineties almost. I am beginning to truly understand why some folks around here, as they get older, buy tiny places up in the mountains of Georgia or one of the Carolinas to spend their summers in. The heat here is bad and it is getting worse and there is no sense in spending half of this short life panting lifelessly on the porch or being imprisoned in the air conditioning.
Yesterday was a reminder of how that could be a good idea- to have a place to go to where it's cooler and maybe there would be a creek with cool gray rocks to lay a body in to gaze up at the leaf-framed sky, to become chilled even in the summer.
I don't know. What I do know is that by the time Mr. Moon got the boat cleaned last night and the fish too, he was so tired he almost fell asleep eating dinner. Fishing the way he does is hard work and that's no joke at all.

I'm tired and I need to go out and walk. Even my ass is saggy these days and I don't have enough ass to excuse any sagginess there. I need to clean out the chick's cage and give them fresh pine bedding. They are stretching their little wings and I can see the feathers growing in, the smallest feathers in the world and last night when we went to bed I told Mr. Moon that the chicks would probably be flying by morning time.


Well, they're not but click on that picture to see those tiny feathers. They are a wonder, they are so delicate that there is nothing to compare them to which would do justice to their fragile beauty.

I miss my grandsons. I wish they lived next door. Is there anything which could be more luxurious than having the grandbabies that close? Well. I am not ungrateful for the fact that they are only fifteen minutes away by car. My heart would break if they lived in another state.

We'll probably never be those people with a cabin in the mountains.

Good morning. Good morning. Someone has laid an egg and I need to get busy too.