I turned off the lights, not wanting to wake anyone -- it was precisely 4:00 a.m. -- and then remembered to get something out of the massage room. So I turned my netbook around and used it as a flashlight. As my eyes adjusted, I found that it easily illuminated the room, with a bluish, smearing light that picked out the whites and left the darks in a grainy confusion. It seemed to me that if I were smarter, or less tired, I would understand something hugely significant implied by us all sitting so often in pools of light that we can't ordinarily see.
I slept a couple hours, spent an hour staining the back deck in my pajamas, then came here to Tom's. Forgot my glasses and had to drive back home for them, in something of a temper. Came back and settled in and finally have my coffee.
Very much a working day for me: I have a slew of gifts to enter at the Foundation, and I'm anxious to get the rest of the deck stained. The sky is looking pretty ominous again. Fortunately the two enterprises can serve as vacations from each other, they're so unlike.
A young friend of mine was deeply troubled by the assassination of a Brazilian couple, ecological activists -- I hadn't heard of them: I suspect their murder was grisly, and she was sparing me details that my aged ears were too tender to hear -- but she told me how the scarlet tanagers had arrived, as if they were messengers, such wonderful birds, coming from that part of the world! They were going to do, oh, something! in response. She'd never seen the tanagers before, and they were so amazing, and they came here after wintering in that part of the world.
Of course they were western tanagers, not scarlet -- we don't get scarlet tanagers here -- and they winter nowhere near so far south as Brazil. They are extraordinarily beautiful birds: maybe the loveliest that ever come to the Willamette Valley. I didn't say anything: I didn't see the point of damaging a healing story.