I did see a few shooting stars last night, but the experience wasn’t one I’m keen to repeat. Watching in silence heightens the other senses and the night sounds are eerie—rustlings and branches cracking. And the insects! Mosquitoes I don’t mind, don’t mind bats or moths either, but I HATE rhinoceros beetles. They are huge and seem to fly straight into any obstacle. And horseflies that land in utter silence on their cushioned pads and slice into flesh without you feeling a thing. I gave up after the second rhinoceros beetle crashed into me, and something began to hiss in the grass behind the well.
Sometimes there is no centre,
Nothing is certain; everything floats,
the spacewalk with no ropes.
Arms reach out and catch empty air;
today is anguish and tomorrow is dread.
Sun shrivels the berries on the branch,
the water in the stream,
the hopes that are just so many words.
In the night,
even the stars drag their anchors,
and wishes don’t come true.