Monday, November 6, 2023
Fort Greene Obsevatory
Saturday morning I took this photo from the top floor of the Fort Greene Observatory.
The sunrise was gray and the Mamas and Papas' CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' rang in my ears.
I was 2900 miles from the West Coast and rain sloshed on the sidewalk.
I went to work in wet gear. The streets of Manhattan swelled ankle-deep with the overflow of every deluge. Thankfully I was wearing a good boots and returned home at dark only a little wet. My landlord and I smoked some reefer after which I fell into bed with the windows open to the cool autumn night.
Sirens sang on Fulton.
Ambulances, not fire or police.
Brooklyn was dangerous in the rain.
I read PORIUS by John Cowper Powys.
The Celtic fairy tale was a tough walk through the weeds of words obscuring the Arthurian legend.
My eyes shut after two chapters, dreaming of my Pictish blood.
lasted two seconds as a near-sighted thane with a dull sword against the Roman shield and I wandered through the sleeplands until a whoosh of wind withered a shiver through the trees outside my window.
Golden leaves fluttered to the floor.
My breath floated on the darkness.
The temperature dropped every second.
Autumn was here.
Winter was coming.
I shut the windows and watched the wind rip away the leaves.
Mercy was out of the question for the new season's invaders.
Three layers of blankets shunned the cold, but this was only the beginning.
Winter was coming.
It bound to get colder.
Earth was in Space and the temperature in Space was Absolute Zero.
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