June 6, 2009

Saturday morning. Jason fled his wife’s unloving friend to my house last night. He cooked gigantic steaks in the iron pan, the sky threatening to rain on any barbecue. We talked and watched arctic-themed horror movies. We stood under the beautiful moon in the deep shadow of the back yard, and talked. He believes insight into the soul is derived from whether you see a man or a rabbit in the moon. As for me, I had never seen such darkness as in the shadows between the matches of moonlight.

The night ended with the only hissing cat-fight we have had among the three feline remnants. Have no idea what the issue was.

Some psychological obstruction let loose yesterday, and I bought passage to Dublin, to bridge the time between Allison’s wedding and Saint Patrick’s Well in New York.