April 4, 2011

The yard is Eden just now, with its blanket of violets and roof of azure.

Circe punctured my left leg with her claw, and though the mark was nearly invisible, it leaked lymph all day. The light pants I had on in the morning I had to change because the leg was obviously soaked with fluid. I couldn’t see any reason why it need ever stop (not being blood with its clotting agents), but it did, in the night, with a towel wrapped around the spot. I bet in a more credulous time I could have presented that as a mark of sainthood.

Sinking under the weight . . . .