augury doggerel

Thursday, January 24, 2002

Buzzard, Mud

One of the buzzards glided over yesterday. Otherwise, everything bigger and smarter than a magpie has flown. It is that vile semi-season of thawing mud and bergs of dirty snow on seas of greenish sponge. I miss the crisp days.

On the bus: finished Antony and Cleopatra, now reading Inferno, descending one canto per bus ride into hell.


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