“Well, well, well, well, well; of all colics, save me from the melloncolics; green melons is the greenest thing!”

—Herman Melville, Pierre

happy memorial day bbq weekend

The man behind me on the train says

(to his cellphone):

"I got a little bent out of shape. I brushed it off. Can you brush it off? What difference does it make? What difference does it make? Really think about that. What difference does it make."

Oh dear friends

I cannot tell you how keenly sad I felt when the moon had passed to the other side of the sun and, though the earth had been transformed—subtly and perfectly transformed, shadows blurred and twisted into curves, the sunlight rendered almost green or maybe orange and somehow bright and dark at once—it became itself again and the shadows were again sharp-edged and straight and the light was again just light, the dark just dark, the space where light was not.

Did I mention that there will be a ring of fire?

And crescent sunbeams:

 

“The event will reveal itself in shadows.”