Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd Wreck to the seaman‥Sorrow to shepherds.
-Venus & Adonis, William Shakespeare

They say there's doom in the red skies of morning, that a sailor should beware and take heed of Mother Nature and her fickle finger. No good comes from a blood red sky when the cock crows, or so the legend goes. Me, I'm more of a night person, and I like the idea that I may expect delight when the dusk brings on a full-flowered nightfall. I will always find myself more interested in looking at the red sky of night, knowing that something good is meant to happen, preferring to look to the west, than see the trouble looming from the east. I hope that this journal will be in keeping with my good intentions, that there are more tales of ruby-hued nights then there are mornings. I can't make any promises, though. I don't control the weather.

This is the fifth journal. The first three have been lost forever, bobbing somewhere in the seas of cyberworld. The fourth can be viewed here: "The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress" 

My need to purge knows no bounds, but as it seems to be the only exercise I get, I must press on.