and then our exile

Wowee. That = one long post. But I shall not apologize; it was mainly my tale of last night, and that was from the Notebook and carbon-copied between the virtual world of cyberspace and the actual one of paper; it was not thought up specifically for the glob-king. Otherwise, though, I've noticed that I have posted a lot in the past week and a half. Starting tomorrow, that shall change, as I reprioritize life.

I am still warm from three kilometers of heart-beat: shorter than yesterday, but it is colder tonight than it was and i must also face a bad sad fact: my ski boots (no, my dear, they aren't bowling shoes.) are too small. Big toe on right foot and littlest toe on left foot, especially, complain. And the skin at the back of my ankles has been rubbed raw. Even last year, they were getting small, but I thought I could ignore that.
Zacharia's mother said they might have a pair that'd fit me. I must remember to ask.
I have realized, though, that training for the Birkebeiner is not as far-fetched a thought as it seemed. Ammi says I should find out if Z wants to go for it as well--probably just the 13km stretch.

Speaking of him, I'm told Mohammed Hussein wants the MSA to put on a play at campus--the dialogue "The Tyrant and the Scholar" by (i think) Qaradawi. And Zachariya would play the scholar and Farooq, Hajjaj! Ha!! :)
I so need to see this.

~
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.
-----People belittle Wordsworth, saying his meter and so on is all messed, but I belittle those people for saying such things. Boo to them! (i kind of see their point, but disregard it--there is, after all, more than meter to a poem {that element Mann calls "sympathy" and which I try to manipulate}).

The moon tonight has a corona of red; transluscent, pellucid clouds are filled with white. The sky above Edmonton is totally orange--scary, really, what Man (gender-inclusive noun, for all adherents of feminist_literary_theory) does to nature. But, I've decided to stop typing about the world--the real world--of snow and stars so much: there are only so many words in the English language, and I can't express myself as well in Arabic, German or Urdu, and so to avoid redundancy, I'm quitting.

Perfect silhouettes: I am in love.
("perfect": within the realm of Creation.)

As a closing note, if anyone sees my black tuque, do let me know. It's actually my mother's--I'm *sure* I had him (the hat, i mean) when I left Someone's, and when I arrived at Farooq's, but after that, my mind goes blank. He's been missing since Thursday (the hat, not Farooq).

This closing note will inshaAllah be too a closing note to a chapter of my life. One particular gestation is now at an end: tomorrow, iA, things will be different.
~
O Turner of Hearts! Establish my heart firmly upon Thy Way.