November 13, 2007

Dug out some of the blasted morning glories. They have a pale tan root as thick as my wrist.

The Fine Arts League of Willoughby, Ohio, has chosen Ten Thousand Nights for their winter one-act festival. The little play would have gotten me to Finland if that contest hadn’t fallen through; it’s very unlikely that it will get me to Willoughby, which can’t be a twentieth of the distance.

The kittens continue the reign of anarchy. They seem to sleep at night, though, or else I just stop hearing them.

And now, by night, poetry, as there has not been in many a long night. Somebody be praised.