Six Cymbal smashes for a sunny day...

I thought the gills were coming. I could feel them growing on the side of my head, and the word "cubit" kept circling round my cranium in a low and undeniable hiss. Too many, far too many, days without sun...Boston lingered on the verge of distinction, the dinosaurs laughing in their long forgotten graves and tar pits, laughing at us mere humans who skitter about like ants looking for the Best Deal, for the Most Fastest, and for the Less Carbs.

I seem to have forgotten how intense and hurtful the light is to my retinas. Ow. And the sound of the rustling leaves doing their chlorophillic dance in the breeze is loud, as loud as was the rain, but a deeper and wavy sound that rushes about in distances and different forces. Forces to be reckoned with.

So this is the beginning. Or, erm, bloggining...