Seeing double

I had a little periodontal work done Friday morning -- not the sort of thing I look forward to on my most optimistic days -- and some errands to run afterwards with half my face reminding me of what my stroke felt like.

So when I got home, and napped for a bit, and then was making myself some soup, I was still a little spacey from the drugs I need to calm the dread before and during, and to blur the pain after.

But not so much so that I knew the full moon in the lake out the kitchen window wasn't something Thomas de Quincey would have taken as a routine hallucination.

I swam through a little of ocean of maple syrup to grab my relatively new multi-megapixel camera, but it wasn't up to it: For all its tricks and skills, its software just doesn't understand "subtle." So I pulled out the trusty old low-rez Olympus, braced myself against the wrought iron at the edge of the veranda and again found La Luna singing with herself in liquid late-summer counterpoint.

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P.S. to Scheherazade: We have now reached 1,001 posts.