New Year's had a magical quality this year. I was hung out on the fence with the usual post bums, enduring an unusually intense California winter rainy season. Above us, the harvest moon shone through the now quiet storm clouds. The bleak San Jose urban landscape seemed a ramshackle film set beneath a glowing, nacre ceiling. Seeing the dark shadows of the trees, I was moved to song. I was moved to Byron:
For we shall go no more a roamin'
Into that star-drenched night,
Tho' the songs are still a-flowing,
And the moon be still as bright!
I mangled the words, I know. Not that it matters, for as we sang it:
Meow, meown, meow, MAwh,
Emeow, meow, meoh
Meow, meow, meow,
Meow, moo, meow, meow, mwaoh!
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