Month: December 2020

Aurora Borealis Nullius – Day 760

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Aurora Borealis Nullius – Photo: L. Weikel

Aurora Borealis Nullius

For the past couple of days I’ve noticed the articles peppering Facebook, Huffpost, and other information outlets ginning up the prospect of seeing the aurora borealis play across the sky all the way down here in Pennsylvania. This expanded engagement was expected due to some more powerful than usual solar ejections from the sun’s surface. Alas, in spite of the breathtaking clarity of the night sky tonight, I have to declare my experience as aurora borealis nullius.

Nope. As can be seen from the photo above, there was some lightening at the northern horizon, but try as I might, I could not talk myself into thinking it was even the remotest form of the northern lights. But I took a photo anyway because, well…you guys!

I’ll admit it. I’m disappointed. I went out on my porch last night and gave a cursory glance toward the north, but there was some cloud cover, so I didn’t bother to trek to my favorite stargazing haunts. Tonight, though? Oh…I was psyched.

As soon as I stepped outside this evening, I could tell it was a perfect night for communing with the cosmos. Stars were everywhere and so clearly visible. I didn’t even put on my coat – I grabbed my keys, hopped in my car, and took off for my first favorite star-haunt. (The place I was when we heard the coyotes this summer.)

Constellations

Although the lightening of the atmosphere along the northern horizon was not, to my knowledge, related to the aurora borealis, I did managed to take some photos of the simply stunning array of celestial bodies splashed from one horizon to the other, arcing over my head.

Below you can see the Pleiades, a cluster of seven stars that look like a smudge in the sky.

The other shot, even further below, is of the constellation Orion, with the ‘Dog Star,’ Sirius, shining brightly to the lower left of the three obvious main stars of Orion’s belt.

Pleiades 1/4 from top, just left of center – Perseus and Alpha Persei Cluster to the right – Photo: L. Weikel

Unexpected Treat

While I was trying to capture the vast expanse of the night sky to share it with all of you, I was surprised by a meteor shooting across the expanse. What a delight! How many times have I traveled to that very same spot over the past several months to get a glimpse of some meteor shower or another, only to be disappointed?

After a few minutes, I decided to drive to my other favorite celestial appreciation spot. On my way, a rather substantial, clearly well-nourished raccoon swiftly trundled across the road in front of me. Only forty yards further down the road, a doe ambled across as well. I felt kissed by their presence and thanked them for allowing me to be in their domain at a time of night when humans just shouldn’t be trespassing.

Arriving at my ‘Other Favorite Spot,’ I again turned off my car and quenched all extraneous lights. With hope in my heart, I gazed all about, craning my neck in awe of the vastness all around me. Nope. Not a colorful wave in sight. (And I’ve seen them before, both when I lived in Sweden and when we lived in Buffalo, so I’d recognize their magical dance.)

But as consolation prize, I was treated to not one but two more shooting stars! They say good things arrive in threes, so I designate this a banner evening.

Once I got home, I checked online and discovered that, indeed, the likelihood of seeing the lights this far south had been downgraded earlier this evening. This definitely turned into an aurora borealis nullius!

Constellation of Orion, slightly right of center, 2/3 down, with Sirius left of center just up from the bottom – Photo: L. Weikel

 

(T-351)

First Flurries – Day 759

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Cardinal in First Flurries – Photo: L. Weikel

First Flurries

Yup, it’s definitely starting to feel like winter, even though we’ve not technically arrived there yet. Here in eastern Pennsylvania we experienced our first flurries and snow coating of the season.

I hope I never get so old that I don’t feel the joy of ‘first flakes’ fluttering in my heart as they come cascading out of the sky. I know, I know. There are personal safety issues that arise with the arrival of the slippery stuff. I’m not talking about the stresses that might accompany having to walk or drive anywhere essential in the snow. I simply never want to have my first reaction to seeing snow be anything other than a touch of childlike glee.

Critter Reactions

I’ll admit it; I had to laugh at the birds falling all over themselves at the feeders. I should’ve taken more photos of the house finches, goldfinches, nuthatches, and cardinals crowding and dive bombing each other at the feeder just outside my living room window. You’d think it was the equivalent of avian Black Friday.

But I did manage to get a lovely photo of a mama cardinal that looks almost staged. I only wish I could activate the ‘live’ feature of the photo within this post because when I hold my finger down on the photo in my phone, you can’t miss the curtain of flurries falling from the sky as she turns and winks at me.

Squirrel Squatter – Photo: L. Weikel

Squirrel Squatter

While I was making my morning coffee, I had to laugh at the unexpected sighting of a squirrel balancing on a metal hanger for a floral basket. I cannot imagine that its tiny little peds aren’t freezing. I hope they didn’t stick to the metal when s/he went to move. They probably didn’t, although I was surprised at how long it hung out there. It did not look like the most comfortable perch.

Luckily, the temperature was just under freezing. I think that tongue-sticking-to-a-metal-pole type of reaction only happens when everything is in a deep, deep freeze.

Slugs

And then there were the spoiled creatures that live in our home. Cletus and Spartacus were not venturing far away from the fire. They much preferred watching the flakes from the window or the door. Or even better, from the vantage point of inside their dreaming eyes.

Cletus & Spartacus – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-352)

All Talked Out – Day 758

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Last night’s sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

All Talked Out

There’s something about the silence that holds hands with the darkness of winter nights. I know it’s not yet technically winter (we have 12 days to go), but you might be forgiven for not realizing that fact if your only barometer was listening. It’s almost as if the world is all talked out.

Most of the leaves on the deciduous trees have fallen to the ground or been blown far and wide, so there’s barely a rustle now when a wind kicks up. Crickets and katydids have been gone for weeks and peepers and tree frogs have burrowed deep in the mud in their attempts to escape getting nicked by Jack Frost.

Of course, the silence is what’s speaking to me this evening. I find myself remembering writing with the front door wide open, a cacophony of wildlife from insects to four leggeds to winged ones sharing the night with me.

I’ve written before of my comfort with being immersed in quiet. Winter (or pre-winter) nights are simply the best for contemplation and reflection. Sometimes I have to reel myself back in, realizing I’ve been surfing the edge of presence and now have 15 fewer minutes in which to write a post.

No Tree Yet

Truth be told, the only thing I’m missing right now are the lights of a Christmas tree. That’s actually a most excellent excuse to leave the house this weekend, as it won’t entail going inside anywhere to secure one except to pay. The exponential increases in infections are not to be ignored. We’re being careful, but every day things feel riskier and riskier.

The fact that we’ve not bought or put one up yet this year has us running a bit behind schedule – at least in comparison to recent years. We’re actually pretty much on schedule with the way my parents bought a tree, though. We’d always get our tree ‘right around Carol’s birthday,’ which this year will be this Thursday. (Yes, this is the Carol of Carol’s Chocolate Cake.)

So maybe this year’s Christmas tree hunt will harken back more to my childhood than that of my own kids’. And no Karl, it will not bring back the good ol’ days of melting tinsel on the Christmas tree’s lights.

Wind Chiming

Aaah. Just as I’m writing about the silence of winter, the wind chimes Karl and I gave each other for our anniversary are nuzzled by a baby blow of cold. Just enough to magically ring but one single note over and over, carrying it down the yard to the barn and back again. “Ding…ding… ding.”

How is the whispering wind managing to kiss the chimes ever so precisely as to ring only one tone out of five?  Somehow that single note only heightens my realization that I’m all talked out.

(T-353)

Eyes on the Sky – Day 757

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Saturn (left) and Jupiter (7 Dec 2020) – Photo: L. Weikel

Eyes On the Sky

As many of you may know, eight hours after the precise moment of the Winter Solstice this year, on December 21st, 2020, we’ll have the opportunity to witness a pretty cool astronomical (and astrological) phenomenon: the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn. But since these planets move so slowly, we won’t need to train our eyes on the sky at the precise moment of 1:20 p.m. ET. In fact, we won’t be able to see them then anyway. But we will be able to see them (weather permitting) just after dusk. And they should be quite a cool sighting.

Technically these two massive planets meet up with each other in a phenomenon known as a Grand Conjunction or a Great Conjunction (lining up in space from our perspective on Earth) every twenty years or so. But this year what we observe will be especially dramatic because the planets will be separated by only 0.1 degree. The last time these two met each other in the sky this closely was in 1623, but that took place so close to the sun that our ancestors may not have noticed. Indeed, it’s thought that the last time these two planets achieved this close of a conjunction that we could see from Earth was in 1226. Think of it! And the next time they’ll be almost as close will be in 2080 – a mere blip on the cosmic calendar to Jupiter and Saturn. But for us?

What About the Moon?

Luckily for us, the grand conjunction on December 21, 2020 will be taking place at a primo location in the sky for all of us to be able to witness the phenomenon. We’ll actually be able to see what appears to be a single, much brighter ‘star’ in the southwestern sky (if we’re in the Northern Hemisphere), which is actually just the two snuggling up very close to each other. There is conjecture that such a very close or tight conjunction of these two planets may have been the Christmas Star of Bethlehem.

Making this event extra special is the fact that it will be occurring at a time and place in the sky where the planets’ light won’t be drowned out by either the sun or the moon. Beyond the degree of closeness the planets achieve to each other, the presence (or absence) of the luminaries in the sky also determine how dramatic a conjunction appears to us – or if we can see it at all.

Yet another gift of 2020 (this time ‘for reals’ – an actual gift!), only a few days before Jupiter and Saturn technically conjunct, a waxing fingernail crescent of the moon will appear just below the two planets. We’ll be able to observe the three of them conversing in the southwestern sky just after sunset on the evenings of December 16th and 17th.

Perspective

While Karl and I were walking this evening, I managed to get a decent photo of Saturn and Jupiter, which I included at the top of this post. (It’s actually much more obvious and clear when observing with our naked eyes.) I’ll try to provide a few more shots of them over the course of the next two weeks as Jupiter really starts picking up speed, documenting their positions in the sky as they approach this grand conjunction.

Just to make things interesting, I’m including a photo (above) that I included with a post I wrote back in July, when I first started noticing and paying attention to their flirtations with each other. As you may recall, astrologically, we’ve been reaping the effects of Saturn, Jupiter, and Pluto all hanging out together in Capricorn since January of 2020 (heralding the arrival of Covid-19, among other things).

Tonight I’m focusing upon the astronomical aspect of the conjunction between Saturn and Jupiter. I’ll save a discussion of the astrological implications for another evening.

In the meantime, I can’t recommend highly enough the invigorating exhilaration you’ll feel by bundling up and taking a just-past-sunset stroll over the next several evenings. Watching the planets approach each other and realizing that it will be another 60 years before anyone gets to witness what we are now is just…cool.

It’s the little things in life. Or maybe it’s the cosmic things. Either way, I love sharing them with Karl and with all of you.

Sunset – 7 Dec 2020 – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-354)

A First Time For Everything – Day 756

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First Page of Pandemic Journal #1 – Photo: L. Weikel

We’re all familiar with the saying: “There’s a first time for everything.” Little did I know at the beginning of this momentous year of 2020 that the expression would apply to a devastating experience with one of my journals.

As I mentioned in my post last night, I reached the natural conclusion of my then current spiral notebook journal at the beginning of April this year. Filled that baby up. Of course, that prompted me to begin a new one, the first entry of which was on April 7, 2020. On the very first page, I dubbed it my Pandemic Journal, because in spite of all the reassurances from on high that it would “all go away like a miracle” one day, my instincts (and ability to read well-researched, science-based articles) told me otherwise. The prospects felt ominous.

A Long History

I’ve been keeping a journal for at least 45 years. Wow. Seeing that in writing really drives it home. I know it to be a pretty accurate estimate because when I became an exchange student to Sweden my senior of high school, I’d already been keeping track of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences for at least two years. And once I arrived in Sweden, my journal was my refuge. In fact, as I became fluent in Swedish through that year, I even started writing my journal in Swedish to prove to myself that I could do it.

My habit of documenting my life’s experiences continued unabated (and perhaps became even more ingrained due to the daily parade of new countries and adventures) as I backpacked around Europe with a Swedish chum a month before returning home and starting college.

I’ll admit that there were times when I would go days, then weeks – and even, especially in college, months – without writing. I’d always regret the lapse when I picked up a pen again. In college, I used a Day Planner my father gave me for Christmas each year. It didn’t have a lot of room to write in each day, which in some ways was probably perfect. I could at least make time to jot down whatever was most significant about a particular day.

Throughout It All

Thus for the past 45 years or so, I’ve kept journals. Throughout all my travels, all my experiences, journeying from Sweden to New Mexico, Buffalo to Peru, Seattle to Siberia, I never – not once – lost or mangled a journal.

Not until 2020.

Specifically, on Thursday, July 30, 2020, I dutifully recorded a variety of observations, from the very personal to the fact that the president was starting to float the idea of postponing the election. I remarked just how oppressively hot it was that day and how disheartened I was becoming over the trajectory of our country.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that I left my journal, along with a Medicine Card book, buried amongst the mound of pillows piled upon the glider where I usually sit when writing on my porch. Karl and I took a walk that evening and upon returning, I forgot to retrieve it. I left it outside overnight – and of course, there was a wild and thoroughly drenching torrential downpour that raged for hours that night.

I Searched High and Low

Friday morning I searched everywhere for my journal. I turned my bedroom upside down, my living room inside out. I looked on the porch several times, but with great relief found nothing – until I started dismantling the mountain of pillows and cushions to place them out in the sun to dry. It’s hard to express the horror I felt when I made my grim discovery.

Indeed, I even wrote (in my first entry of my present journal) how the magnitude of the soaking storm that occurred that Thursday evening was so extreme that, had it been a storm of any normal size, the journal would’ve been protected. First of all, it had a thick plastic cover on it. Second of all, it was so deeply buried – under several layers of pillows. It was outrageously ridiculous that so much rain fell that evening such that everything – all those layers – became utterly waterlogged.

Indeed, for days afterward, I would sit on that glider and water would drip out of the bottom-most cushions.

Simply Devastated

I was stunned. In shock. For the first time ever, I’d failed to take care of my journal. I’d neglected one of my most sacred objects.

It probably sounds weird, but I’ve been too ashamed to even write about and confess this publicly until now. While I realize it is just words, it’s not a human being, nor a beloved pet, I experienced a deep and irretrievable loss.

Once I write something down, I let it go. I give myself permission to release the need to obsessively try to remember all the details of everything I experience. And through the pandemic up to that point, I’d been tracking a number of dreams and journeys (the shamanic kind) that seemed particularly significant. A few in particular almost felt prophetic, and documenting them in my journal was my best way of keeping track.

To make matters worse, I may have mentioned before that I write dreams and journeys in different colors in my journals to make them stand out. It’s then easier for me to locate those extraordinary moments when I go searching for them later. Imagine my dismay – my actual sense of mourning – when I realized that my journeys and dreams had literally been washed away. For whatever reason, the colors I use for those special events orange, green, and red, of the very same pens I use in black and blue ink to write my everyday experiences, ‘ran’ completely off the pages, leaving nary a trace behind.

Started Anew

So on August 2nd, 2020, I began my Pandemic Journal #2. Of course, I’ve kept the first, as can be seen from the photos I’m including with this post. But sadly, it seems only my more mundane entries can still be read. While I’m grateful that anything could be salvaged…

The loss is real.

Rich Details of a Journey – Lost; Photo: L. Weikel

(T-355)

Pandemic Journal – Day 755

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My Pandemic Journal – Photo: L. Weikel

Shortly into this downhill slide our country is experiencing, I felt in my bones that something wasn’t right. Indeed, I wrote a post about what I saw unfolding in our country that, upon re-reading it for the first time this evening, has me sort of wondering at the sad accuracy of my screed back at the beginning of March (almost nine months to the day ago). And while I was finishing up the last few pages of my journal at the time, I actually started a new one on the 7th of April – and eerily enough, declared on the very first page that it would probably end up being my “Pandemic Journal.”

To quote myself and my inelegant observation that day: “The shitstorm has already started.”

Our Unique Experiences

I suspect every person who keeps a journal has some idea in the back of their head that someone, someday, may find value in the description of our mundane lives and thoughts, our descriptions of what we encounter in our daily lives, and how we perceive the slow steamroller of life’s events. It’s intriguing to me to consider that what I take for granted as everyday normality will someday read as a curiosity. Quaint, even. But that’s ok. That feels like a normal evolution of consciousness. It’s the way we are.

I nevertheless wish I could read the musings of my own ancestors. Would I find their thoughts and innermost contemplations quaint? Or would I find them even more profound than I sometimes fancy my own? (I’d like to think I would.)

Cool Opportunity

Anyway, just today I discovered this very cool project being undertaken by the University of Connecticut. It’s called the Pandemic Journaling Project. I encourage you to check it out. No matter whether you’ve contracted Covid-19 or not, lost or suffered through scary times with a loved one, lost your job, had your opportunity to contribute to society multiplied, been exhausted as a healthcare worker, organized the less fortunate for safer working conditions, or found yourself staring at four walls all day wondering who you are and what this scourge has done to your life…here is a place to document it.

Someone, someday, may discover something remarkable about our experience of the infamous 2020. We may display hues of resiliency we never dreamed possible. We may exhibit compassion or despair in equal measures, only to be buoyed by the tiniest gesture of kindness coming from a totally unexpected source.

Documenting the large and small experiences of living through these times is a gift we can all give to our progeny. If you check out this site, you will see there are a number of ways you can make a contribution. Verbally, by the written word, privately, or allow your thoughts and experiences to be shared.

Tomorrow I will share with you the blow I suffered with respect to my Pandemic Journal. It’s taken me all these months to share, but maybe now is the time.

(T-356)

Light – Day 754

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Photo: L. Weikel

Light

Once again we have candles in our windows to celebrate and bring light to the season of the longest nights.

I’ve written before about loving this particular aspect of the coming holidays. Between candles in the windows and lights on the tree, I could spend hours just sitting with a good book or a journal, or even with nothing at all but my thoughts, feelings, and memories.

I find it very easy to get lost in the flicker of a flame. Sometimes, I fall even deeper into a reverie when the flame holds eerily still for just enough time to lose track of all time.

Fire

Speaking of loving the flame, I also respect it. I realize just how powerful it is: full of the power to enlighten and also full of power to destroy and lay waste.

I’m reminded of that by the deeply unsettling knowledge that a good friend of mine and her kids were forced to evacuate their home in Southern California again within the past day or so due to uncontrolled wildfire known as the Bond Fire.

I say ‘again’ because they were also evacuated over a month ago as a result of a different wildfire.

There’s a lot going on in so many people’s lives. We all need each other more than ever now.

(T-357)

Higher Knowledge – Day 753

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Mystic Art Medicine Oracle, by Cher Lyn – “Higher Knowledge”

I felt nudged this evening to ask for a message for us from the Mystic Art Medicine Oracle Cards by Cher Lyn. Many of you will recognize Cher Lyn’s distinctive artwork, as I’ve called upon these cards to provide us with occasional guidance over the past year or so. The cards beckoned tonight, and when I asked what message we need to bear in mind over the next several days, I chose Higher Knowledge.

Higher Knowledge

“Melchizedek”

“Ye stand on the threshold, a truth ye are told.

Tis fact I say, Higher wisdom ye behold.

Step beyond space and time

There lies so much more in thy reason

And thy rhyme.

“(…)

… Having a fully opened heart while centering one’s Being and taking action on the guidance of your higher soul knowledge is essential.

Your primary goal is to remember this truth within you. As humanity’s evolution approaches, make your vital leap into a higher level of consciousness. These teachings of the (Cosmic) Priesthood are being made more open to you. Express Collective Divine energy in all situations. Seeing life through the eyes of your heart. Knowing all is revealed through the intuitive spirit in your heart. Be aware that God is all there is. One power, an absolute force that governs our existence, without duality.

With Higher Knowledge you live life in spiritual wonder. Remain in the now and maintain an observer consciousness. In this truth there is never a shortage of miracles and ever more wisdom to behold. Everyone intrinsically has this wisdom Light within. The mystical medicine card of Higher Knowledge is an inspiration to open to the extent and vastness of the universes around you, and view existence from that perspective.”

Short Reflection

The card of Higher Knowledge depicted above is a painting by Cher Lyn of Melchizedek. Some refer to Melchizedek as an Ascended Master; some refer to him as a Being that perhaps vibrates even a bit higher than Ascended Masters. I am only cursorily conversant with this Being – and recommend you do your own research if the mention of his name strikes a chord within you. I do know that he is very much associated with the education of the soul. I found this passage interesting.

It seems to me that we’re being called to go within this month. I had to smile when I saw the reference to miracles in the last paragraph I quoted. Perhaps we’re being encouraged to remain open to the possibility of miracles of all sorts unfolding in our lives – perhaps when we’re least expecting them.

(T-358)

Drastically Different – Day 752

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Photo: L. Weikel

Drastically Different

Walking this evening in the brilliant clarity of late fall atmosphere, I noticed the simple beauty of this tree growing alongside the road. Both branches part of the same trunk, I couldn’t help but notice how drastically different were the paths they were growing along.

One seemingly chose to take the straight up path, while the other chose the scenic route.

The stark difference in the appearance of these branches brought me up short. I’m not even sure why. Perhaps because they’re growing from the same trunk and it would at least appear from my perspective that they haven’t been exposed to substantial differences in environmental stresses.

So what in the world would cause one to go all swirly and creative, while its sibling just buckled down and got to work at the business of reaching for the sky?

Nature vs. Nurture

If these branches were human, we might attribute the differences in their ‘personalities’ to…what? Their nature? Their inherent souls, which even if their bodies were identical would still encourage development of their own unique, creative characteristics?

Is that possible with trees? Could it be that each branch of this tree has its own way of reaching for the sun? Might the curly branch be yearning for its individual expression along the same lines as Jonathan Livingston Seagull* did, while the straight branch just did what was expected?

These are the paths my mind wanders sometimes takes when we walk in darkness.

Photo: L.Weikel

*affiliate link

(T-359)

Window of Orange – Day 751

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Weighted Blanket – Photo: L. Weikel

Window of Orange

Karl and I took a walk today in what I would consider late afternoon. It was early for us, but we sensed the shift in temperature from yesterday and didn’t want to get even colder walking in the dark. From the look of the clouds, the potential for precipitation was significant – at least a possible snow squall – although my Weather Channel app said otherwise. (We both felt some flakes sweep our cheeks, but they never attained the momentum of even a decent flurry.) Covering the sky with billowing shades of dark slate gray tinged with the slightest edges of purplish black and ashy white, the cloudbank felt like a weighted blanket. But there – far across the miles of fields and farms and forests – a window of orange light appeared.

It almost looked contrived, as if we were in some sort of huge space ship and a rectangular door on the far horizon whisked aside, opening with a swish just like in Star Trek.

While I took a photo of the rectangular doorway of light that appeared, I was definitely more interested in trying to capture the magnificence and personality of the dark, swirling threat of pent up weather-rage manifesting before us. The darkness felt familiar. The light of the sunset peeking through that doorway felt like a false promise. It’s hard to explain.

“Window” closer up – Photo: L. Weikel

Evolution of the Sunset

We watched the cloud cover and setting sun dance with each other and sort themselves out as we walked. By the time we got home, a significant portion of cloud cover had either dissipated or moved on.

The moon rose, powerful and so clear, like the beam of a klieg light. Noticing this full-on brilliance gave me pause when I again contemplated the moon that had awakened us at the very moment of its fullest expression. Perhaps her brilliance was so great that she’d appeared brighter than expected even though she was being eclipsed by the Earth and traveling through her shadow.

Where to place my attention? – Photo: L. Weikel

Starry Night

I came inside from doing my Perelandra Biodiversity Project process right before starting this post. It’s the 1st day of December and, as I’ve written about many other times, the first of every month is the day people from all over the world take about five minutes out of their lives to consciously join in the effort to shift the energy of the land or property over which they have control (own, rent, have authority over) in order to combat the effects of climate change.

It’s a simple process, a means of having a brief chit-chat with the Spirits of the land on which you live during which you show them you are aware of climate change and how the stress of it may be resulting in loss or extinction of biodiversity. It’s a tiny opportunity to communicate appreciation of Nature and express a willingness to co-create a healed environment.

I was moved almost to tears as I engaged in this conversation. (I tend to talk a bit more after reciting the ten or so words the actual process calls for. I enjoy expressing gratitude and asking if there’s anything else I can do to show it.) The stars were blinking in the cold clear air and it seemed almost too great a leap from the weighted blanket of dark and ominous clouds that had hung over our heads only hours earlier.

I’m not even sure what it is I was marveling at as I stood on the edge of the porch and chatted with the Spirits of our land. Perhaps it was the astonishing rapidity with which everything can change.

That’s where the door cracks open to invite miracles into our lives. Realizing that everything can change – <<snap>> – just that fast.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-360)