There's an owl out in one of the eucalyptus by our house, hooting to break your heart. Placid.

The moon is so bright out there that everything is clear -- the cars bedded down in the driveway, the aloes, the ceramic frog in the garden. A full moon manages to do much more in the chaparral than in the city. Puts space between things, makes them look quieter and more alone.

... you know, sometimes it feels like there's almost nothing left I can write in this space now that I know who's reading it. always something one person or another shouldn't hear.

Owls. Not one owl -- two of them, up in that silver tree. Somehow that makes it even harder I'm leaving. Posted by Gus at January 18, 2003 05:55 AM | TrackBack