Sunday 23 January 2000

Pic of the day: The light comes. Far away, on the other side of the river. Dawn comes, turning everything to gold with a touch. Here may be shadow and winter's cold, but it will not last forever. The light comes.

My voice is rusty. Years of solitude did not improve it. Yet I cannot keep it from singing, songs from my childhood. We used to sing, I and the river, as it crashed down from the mountain. We did not sing the same tune, and I never learned to sing the same tune as those around me. Yet sing I must, for my heart sings in me. Alone, where I am free, where I am me.

Years ago, I saw a billboard. "Life is too short to cook mashed potatoes." Is that the problem? Then are we perhaps to cook mashed potatoes in eternity?

The sunbeam made a pool of golden warm light on the floor. What a waste, when there was not a cat to curl up in it. But the sun is large enough, not only for all the cats in the world, but for all the cats that aren't here either.

In a hundred years, I will be forgotten from the Earth. But children will sing, and cats will purr, when the sun shines on a winter day.