incandescens | hot baths, cold winds

Noisy winds outside today. No, I'm nowhere near the parts of England having serious storm problems, but the weather's hardly calm.

There's something about hearing heavy winds and cold weather outside while you're comfortably lying in a hot bath that makes you want to close your eyes and go to sleep.

My mother was borrowing books from me again this evening. (She quite liked the Anvil of the World, to the extent of asking if I had any more by that writer.) Just think, when I'm gone, she won't have a convenient source of new science fiction and fantasy. We're already vaguely discussing the topic of how we split the books throughout the house. I've agreed to cede all the Georgette Heyers to her automatically, but pointed out that I did buy the Pratchetts myself. Barry Hughart is certainly going to be a bone of contention.

At least it'll resolve my birthday/Christmas presents to her for a few years. ;)

Actually managed to get the next chapter of the GetBackers story started, which is a relief. It had been sitting there and I hadn't known how to start the chapter. Now the first few sentences are hammered down and etched in, hopefully it'll move a bit faster.

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Sonnet XVII: Love

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

-- Pablo Neruda