I am in here.
“Come out and play,” the day says. “I am new and it is the beginning of all things.” It was the beginning before, I say. And the day before that. “There is always a beginning underneath.” And beneath that? “Another.” How many beginnings are there underneath? I ask. “How low can you go?”
Meryl’s not the only one with a menorah! Chag Sameach, everyone!
Sorry for the silence this morning and afternoon — I just finished a huge project this morning, and have had a big nap. Has anyone else noticed how such endings are so very anticlimactic?
Via Bryan Alexander, I found opacity.us, which offers photo galleries of modern urban ruins. Lovely in a gothic, haunting way.
