DyingNote

Cool breeze, birdsong, hot tea at hand, the Sunday paper in front of my face, my love beside me, the cats purring at our feet, a weary world halted at our door and outside our window, a hint of jasmine and the susurration of bamboo leaves. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as perfection, but this is close enough. And so I decided to play Mastodon (one other heavy M, Metallica is currently passe in my world of sound) – you know, just to shake things up a bit. Well, my baby left me and the cats followed her out into the garden, the door to which was shut more firmly than was required – I could hear that even above the mayhem that Troy Sanders and his boys were unleashing. Nah, not an experiment resulting in all-round happiness. (more…)