There is darkness in the morning. I don't know why. My books are scattered on the floor, on the desk. Why even bother with 'my'? The window is open. I hear birds chirping, a few stray notes from a guitar, distant but also close up if you know... I hear the silence of my own life and record it here, for you, as if you could tell it or you could hear it. 

There is darkness at eleven o'clock and I don't know why any more. The coffee was too bitter. Danish blue and walnuts. A quiet hour spent noting the thoughts of Finnis's Natural Law. Copy the words down in your hand until they're real. Old ways staying down below the lights keep the song of the world going, no matter how faint.

Eight hundred years of thought and commentaries, almost unbroken. The sky is older by a couple of billion. But the thought and not the theoretical formulation is older still. There is no time. 

The door to this phase of the year is closing. You'd take stock but all you got is a blank page and a blunt pencil. Why expend any effort. The birds are chirping in this mysterious darkening and there is laughter far away. Things roll by. Same as it ever.