Leaf Fall

The shear organic propensity. Usually there are some big winds that blow things into drifts, off to the side, but right now the leaves are six inches thick and cover everything to the point of invisibility. What driveway? In four-wheel low, a gear I used once in Colorado (in ten years), I slide slowly, but completely out of control, contained only by ruts that remind me where I should be. Exhilarating but a hell of the way to start the day. Scott has promised to grade my access this week, which probably means next week, in the mean time it's merely the first hurdle. I have a routine: drive out to the beginning of the downhill run, stop the truck, get out and walk the first 25 feet and gauge the relative footing. If I can't walk it then I don't drive it and call in some accumulated overtime. Mackletree is amazing. I know everything is mostly water, but the leaves are so thick that the road is disappeared. You know where it is, because of the leaves, but you can't see it, because of the leaves, the verge is indistinct. I want to be clear on this, the kitchen is my office, you leave dirty dishes in my sink and I will certainly wash them, a matter of course, but you can' expect me to be civil if you soil my carpet. My problem has always been too much attachment. That word again. I love the museum, and my place here, but I hate it when things are dirty. Odd, really, because I can live in a hell-hole, my home, my space, but the show must be clean. I actually prefer my space to be cluttered, I have a sense of where things are, and precision has always struck me as anal and too much bother. I call your attention to that last attempt at order, where the lights went out and you struggled for a candle. Fact remains, if you slip in your shoes, you probably can't drive it. Reconsider. If things are so constellated, then you merely read, which is a rule, I think. A theorem. I try to place things in order, devise a system, but what I'm actually confronted with is a wall, that I need to climb, that is unclimbable. I could have made a mistake, in what I that I was doing, but that seems unlikely, because I've considered every step. Newton said, and I trust my interpretation of this, five years of Latin, "tanaquam ex ungue leonem": as the lion is recognized by his print. You're revealed by what you do. Nothing is more important than who you are. I don't mean that in any profound way, more merely mundane. Yes, yes, Emily, or was that Molly, what is your name?