Night geese

There's something unwholesome about the sound of geese flying overhead at night. Their honking sounds awfully lost and lonely when you can't see them.

Closing up my theater tonight, I was surprised and pleased to see echo_eriol coming up the stairs. She's in Ann Arbor for a few days between Europe and Europe, and I was quite sure I'd missed her, but instead she stopped by ten hours before her flight to give me a hug and a chat and a ride home. We wound up singing along with Les Mis in her car, then blocked my driveway for kind of a long time, talking. 'Twas good.

She took issue with my previous LJ description of her as a goth, so I suppose I should revise my assessment. To me she looks like a goth, albeit a sort of a floral goth who doesn't mind the occasional patch of color. Death from Sandman, as drawn by Brian Froud. She's tanned now, so she's no longer goth-pale—she suddenly looks more Romish than anything—but when she showed up she was wearing knee-high lace-up leather boots, black stockings, a flouncy pink skirt, and a black (silk?) semiformal jacket. So if she's not a goth I don't know a simple label for her (which is probably fine with her). "Wicked cute"; how's that?

I slept badly last night, winking in and out fitfully through the morning hours, so I've been weary all day. My mouth isn't really forming words very well, though my fingers are doing all right.