Tired. The heat, the dryness and the altitude are still whomping me pretty severely. The good news is, Mom seems to be doing better. Though she still has significant pain, she was able to come downstairs today, got somewhat comfortable on the couch, ate dinner (there was a beef roast that I swear was the size of a grown man's thigh), and watched Amazing Grace with me. I'm going to have to keep a better eye on her overnight insulin intake, though. The last two days she's wakened with blood sugar readings in the 50s, which is one step above "I think I'll slip into a coma now."
The guest room where I've been sleeping is at the top and back of the house, facing the mountain. It's private and comfortable, and I prefer to write in there. I brought a small travel journal with me, and at day's end I tend to sprawl across the guest bed, scribbling madly away. (Some of it is later transcribed here.) When I've prepared for bed, closed the journal for the night, turned off the lights, etc., I sometimes open the window -- which has no screen on it -- and lean out to catch some of the cool evening winds that come off the mountain. If you have a halfway decent imagination, you can picture yourself stepping up onto the sill, leaning forward, taking a deep breath, letting go -- and soaring out and up the hill, over the boulders and scrub oaks, dodging bats and other nocturnal creatures, until you find a place to alight on the rocky crags high above the valley. The stars seem larger, the constellations more full and bright, and you can quite clearly trace the path of the Milky Way and catch sight of a meteor or two burning across the sky if you know where to look.
No, I'm not about to fall victim to a sudden gust of gravity. It's just a lovely thought.