It’s Friday night.
The windows are open.
The indefatigable crickets perform a single note concerto in a continuous loop. Gentle gusts of wind rattle the blinds and signal autumn, the chill taking a soft bite of the humidity. Zeke lies the path of the breeze of the oscillating fan, and snores.
I’m awake.
The Body spent.
The Mind and its chatter, ever-present – Working.
In a hunt for a sleeping aid, I flip on SiriusXM Radio and pan through selections.
BBC World Service kicks off a segment on World War Two titled The Leningrad Symphony. I never cared much for History in school, and in life which accounts for a penchant for repeating mistakes. The moderator, with her soothing British accent, drew me in. Continue reading “It was unbearably joyful.”