book of the month.

"good morning. and how are you this fine day?"
"very well, thank you. how is your mother?"
"she's getting old- getting old- the aches and daggers of getting old. i'll tell her you asked for her."
the words are meaningless except in terms of feeling. does anyone act as the result of thought or does feeling stimulate action and sometimes thought implement it?

the street lights made the hard white frost on the lawns and sidewalks glint like millions of tiny diamonds. such a frost takes a footprint and there were none ahead, i have always from the time i was a child felt a curious excitement walking in new unmarked snow or frost. it is like being first in a new world, a deep satisfying sense of discovery of something clean and new, unused and undirtied. the usual nightfolk, the cats, dont like to walk on frost. i remember once, on a dare, i stepped barefoot on a frosty path and it felt like a burn to my feet. but now in galoshes and thick socks i put the first scars on the glittering newness.

sometimes i wish i knew the nature of night thoughts. they're close kin to dreams, sometimes i can direct them and other times they take their head and come rushing over me like strong, unmanaged horses.

are cats strange animals or do they so resemble us that we find them curious as we do monkeys?