The humble Dust Buster is under-rated as an enviromentally friendly bye-bye-bye-buzzy-buzzy-fly device. I just caught nine soaking up the sun on my bedroom window. Well, I wouldn't spray them and wacking them seems such an indolent pursuit. Let them all go again on my balcony. My preference is to leave the door wide open, but this is the result.
There is your weather forecast for the coming week in Canberra.
Singing with the rain is so lovely. Sacred songs with harmonium. Not singing in the rain - I am not that cool. After the shower on Sunday night, the world seemed to be flooded with a golden light. A suffuse glow from above so warm reaching to hug existence. You could never catch it. You can only jump in to it, knowing you can never turn around again, because only death is behind. At the least, you will not be the same again, remain unchanged.
I like to play my flute during the thunderstorms too. The lighting comes on the high notes.
For a time, every bird outside my window teases, "Come on, sing a song. Here is my melody, play along."
It rains again.
The time has come to sing.