Later, Dark

Before I turn on some lights inside I go for a walk outside. The gathering gloom, so quiet all I hear is my own footsteps, then a bird, another, then a squirrel chattering. You interrupt the natural world with your loud body, you have to be very small and quiet to hear what's actually going on. The more noise you make the less you hear. It never fails that I walk into the woods, sit on a stump, stop moving, start listening, that the world unveils. Never fails. Sometimes you have to listen closely. The problem is yours, not a problem with the world. It's officially Spring and there are several million life forms per cubic foot. If you listen you can hear them, shifting the leaf litter. Listening to the radio, low in the background, it's Tom Petty, touches a chord. Then a Brit with some changes, pretty sure that's Clapton in the background, nobody else plays the guitar that way, such smooth progressions. The way music can say things. I have to sleep. We'll talk later. I'm switching my water system completely over to five-gallon pickle buckets, a superior bucket in several ways: better handle, ergonomic, pleasant to carry; gasketed lid, so less sloshing; and I get to use pickle water when I'm breaking in a new bucket. That last might seem a negative quality, but I actually like pickle water. It smells almost antiseptic, certainly acidic. I like to wash my hair with it, I like dill pickles, I don't mind smelling like one. Two painters, camping in the forest, said they would stop by tonight. Can't imagine they actually would. It seems like a good idea, visit Bridwell, have a couple of drinks, but then there's the driveway from hell. A wonderful older carpenter I docented through the Wrack Show today, had a Pomeranian in a satchel. Looked like a fox. I told him about my fox, a few details, he said -Jeeze man, that's cool, foxes are difficult, you got coyotes? -Yes- I allowed, -I see them occasionally- -very powerful together, if they both allow you to see them- I didn't know what he was talking about, some shamanistic crap that I'd dismiss in a heartbeat, but that wasn't his point, he meant that I was seeing the natural world, which I think is true, mostly. Nothing breeds like contempt. There's a hard stop. I read it back over and think it means a great many things. I don't mean any one in particular. The freight language bears (bares) accumulates. I can't mention the fox without consideration, because you know my thing for her, so I'm careful in what I say. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. Whatever that might be. Can there be a wrong idea? Nothing is set in concrete until it is. We watch these layers of fashion as if they mean something. They don't. Truth be told, all that matters is what you hold dear. I trust my readers, everything else is dross. I'm losing track of time here, but it doesn't seem to matter, you know what I mean. The important things.