{"id":1227,"date":"2010-04-29T01:47:06","date_gmt":"2010-04-29T08:47:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.backwoodshome.com\/blogs\/ClaireWolfe\/?p=1227"},"modified":"2010-04-29T01:47:06","modified_gmt":"2010-04-29T08:47:06","slug":"thursday-miscellany-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/2010\/04\/29\/thursday-miscellany-3\/","title":{"rendered":"Thursday miscellany"},"content":{"rendered":"

1:15 a.m. <\/p>\n

I woke up two hours ago with my trailer jerking in the wind and the moon silver-bright through the window (beautiful but unwelcome to sleepy eyes). The trailer always rocks in high winds, but this is different, sharp and jolting like a series of airy earthquakes. <\/p>\n

Every time I start to slip back into sleep another round hits. A couple of times, things have fallen off shelves. Nervous dogs begged for spots on my sleeping bag. So here I am, awake but fog-headed. Covered in canines. And soothing myself with a favorite bit of Shelley:<\/p>\n

A Dirge<\/font><\/b><\/p>\n

Rough wind, that moanest loud
\nGrief too sad for song;
\nWild wind, when sullen cloud
\nKnells all the night long;<\/p>\n

Sad storm whose tears are vain,
\nBare woods, whose branches strain,
\nDeep caves and dreary main \u2014
\nWail, for the world’s wrong!
\n<\/i><\/center><\/p>\n

Y’know, it just occurred to me that Shelley makes a lot more sense when you’re a romantic 18-year-old than he does when you’re a cynical been-there-done-it-all trying to get back to sleep. Ah well.<\/p>\n

Since sleep is impossible, here’s some news (some of which is actually olds, since I’ve been saving it up a few days) …<\/p>\n