(Afanasyev Vitaly)
I only jest, of course, from last night. The boy is a true wonder, a "blessed marvel" as Selavy often exclaims.
I just walked the dog and the sunrise was breaking into colored bands across the clouds. Yellow giving way to pinks, separated by rich pre-sunrise blues, heading towards a losing purple on the opposite horizon. Row after row of clouds, arranged nearly along the horizon line, for Barkley and I.
I only wish that I had brought my camera with me.
After posting last night a friend reminded me of Super Bowl last year. It always strikes me as odd, time. The years keep flying by, as evidenced by my vastly increasing numbers, sometimes seemingly in exponentials. But when I consider the distance between one Super Bowl and the last then the sense becomes elongated. The feeling of impossibility suddenly stretches rather than collapses. Time runs off the other way with my mind. It seems much further distant than could be possible. If each is a year then how could there be such a difference in feeling. There is something wrong, I think, with my ability to sense time. I will consult my astrologers and healers.
I am off, into and then past that blue aurora.
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