Sun-maddened

Awoke around two-ish, so plunged back into the Bowen novel I've been consuming, The Little Girls. Odd and relatively light weight compared to others of hers, but by the end, which I reached around three-ish, once again Bowen's elegant little truths were nudging to the fore. She took more time to lead me around with this one, but I think I see what she was doing, or at least, I see some version of what she was doing, regarding the risky proposition of revisiting childhood friendships. Once I edge into "what this book was about," the craft and wonder of her writing doesn't receive its full due. She plots well, but what happens is not the most important part of one of her works.
There will be something like this embedded in a paragraph of a character's dialogue: "And then the war came, showing one nothing was too bad to be true." (referring to WWI) Happening upon that observation in the wee hours stung me. Bowen lived through both World Wars, and knew whereof she spoke.
Oh, my eyes have stopped streaming from reading The Bruni Digest,what I find to be an insanely hilarious spoof of the NYT's Frank Bruni, restaurant...uh... critic, or visitor, anyway.
Off to enjoy running in the sun. Almost warm enough for shorts.
On the way back from the grocery store, I heard wild clucking and litle girls giggling. I turned a corner, and there was a trio of girls with a chicken apiece with lengths of twine around their necks; they were attempting to walk the birds. The chickens weren't having it, and were ensconcing themselves behind bushes and chicken houses, protesting loudly. The birds' owner stood by bemusedly, perhaps ruing this idea. Worse than herding cats.