01.30.01 - 01:21:23

Shipwrecks are apropos of nothing. If only men could train for them, and have them occur when men had reached their pink condition, there would be less drowning at sea.

-- Stephen Crane

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Lessons from the Big New Office�, Day Two:

The view is better when the sun is out, and there is a vast stretch of variable clouds flung across the sky. When the shadows create a patchwork on the sere brown hills, and they move with changeable speed, now fast, now slow, now dark across a bowl of hills so it looks like some vast ampitheater, now light, brilliant and brown and dry and winter-dead, emphasizing their differences, the same hills' variations in contour and elevation.

I can see the river too, even from here, though i hafta turn my head. It is a flat brown ribbon running fat through our valley, but even so, the muddy waters reflect some of the sky's brilliance, some of its blue, like a clouded, cloudy mirror.

The clouds are another country, though. The could be another land above the land, some fantastic agglutination of hills and valleys that belong in a land where frost-queens live and princes track dragon's to their lairs, only to be upstaged by the princesses they were supposed to rescue. That's what the sky should be, could be, fat cumulous clouds marching away from me to the horizon that is so much wider from this height than it ever is from the street, beneath a few white streaks of cirrus.

And I don't usually feel like a vixen, but right now I do. Because of something I read, actually. It's an interesting feeling, even though I was embarrassed. I'm not objecting, per se.

And now it's time to work again, before someone else comes in and sits down at my desk to use the phone, or demands my computer for some experiment of the week with the new copier-printer. Or something.

And sees. What I'm writing. What I'm reading.

Time to go.