Glorious Night

March 6th, 2009

I have not had one since I came inside.  I had several glorious nights outside. Social Worker Deux reminded me. One night turned out to be the most glorious night of the year. There was a scattered mosaic of small clouds carpeting its way out over the water. The moon was full upon full – the moon at its closest approach of the year. I was snuggled in the tall reeds – a bent reed mattress below me; a horseshoe curtin of reeds protecting me from censuring eyes, but open to the water. The waves textured the reflected moonlight.

I had enough dacron from the Goodwill to be snug1. I had my olive drab jumpsuit.2 And of course, my peace bling. I had not walked through the Monument to get there. I did not want to be seen. More importantly, I did not want to anger the Dead. I assume it was alright to be where I was. They didn’t say nuthin. It was just the moon, the water, the ducks, the reeds, the Dead and me. It was glorious.

1. No Kafka, I’ve never been a bug.
2 A mummy bag is better than a rectangular sleeping bag in cold weather because it contains less air to be heated by body heat. Similarly, a padded jumpsuit is better still.

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