Interlude

Today is Friday, 29 December 2006.

I’ve opened several windows a few inches, to enjoy the sound of steady rain now falling upon The Museum of the Bourgeois.

Pasternak wrote of a candle burning upon a table, as snow swept the world.

Nothing more delights me than to retire to sleep, with the sound of a steady rain.

Herewith, in the spirit of the moment, John Donne:
No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.

As the minutes count down, is not Saddam Hussein as much a clod as his victims?