Woke to rain this morning. Grey day. Dreary. Beatnik wants me to go sit at the beach this afternoon. Bad weather for it. She wants to check the report on the weather station's page. Waiting for her to jack in and figure out which way the weather page is. Passing time taking down a poem appeared while I was making coffee.

Past is clouded
future is clouded
present is clear as day
sun smoulders
burns the skin
bleaches the hair

Beatnik wrote the last part. She won't take it out. Overriding my keyboard, won't let me delete. She's jacked in now. Think she's going to publish and password this post so that I can't remove