This morning, the birds started vocalizing around four thirty am.
around six, the rain clouds formed a massive slate-grey feature toward the east. During a brief sliding brake in them, a sliver of a crescent moon I found delightful.
to the reams of screeds, rants, wails of despair or wacky who-cares kind of stuff available online, I preferred reading the first part of André Markowicz’ analysis of a poem by Mandelstam.
from here on, everything’s uncertain, save for the fact there’s a new cat in the neighborhood, presently miaowing below my living room window.
everything uncertain (and much that’s absurd) except for the fact – the fact? – the knowledge I love bird song at four thirty am, and a sliver of crescent moon around six.