Pending Snow

Spent part of the day on the ridge, got my mail so I can pay bills, came back to town because of the forecast snow, walked down below the floodwall. Cooked a pot of greens with salt-pork, some cheese grits refried in butter. Walked to the library. The sludge was frozen, on the banks of the Ohio, so I could skip rocks and look for interesting things without getting my boots layered in mud. Almost remembering something I curse the faulty powers of retrieval. Distracted from the failure of memory by finding a nice pearl necklace. The delicate chain is gold, because it hasn't been corrupted by the PCPs and other crap at water's edge, and the single pearl, surrounded by diamond fragments extends the argument that white is almost never pure. In bright sun I see a light blue in the center. There's a knot in the chain that I finally tease out using a splinter I carved from a log beached by high water. What is the natural world anyway? The Ohio is no longer a natural river, she's channelized, but things that wash up are a natural product of a given environment. When I write on the ridge, I walk around a lot, from window to window, looking at the way things are framed, Walking in town I see more of a panorama. No, not true, I still focus on detail, but when I look up, the scene, the view is not what I expect. A paradigm shift, but not that far, really. What I see. Park me in China and I'd probably notice shoes. Not a reference back to boots, but I do notice footwear. Mostly because the first thing I look at are ankles. I'm a student of ankles. They interest me. When Madeline took off her boots, which was seldom, her ankles were exquisite. Neither here nor there. I flushed a murder of crows, down on the creek bank, scared me near to death. Everything prepares you for the next time you come across the unexpected. A rule of nature. My computer locks up, maybe it's the snow. Still sore, I go to my pallet early. Down pallet on the floor. Hung the student show today, 24 drawings, and got them labeled. The Memory Project, a yearly thing. Some guy went to Central America, overwhelmed by the number of orphans who had not a single possession that pre-dated them waking up in an orphanage. So he photographs them, then uses art classes in the USA to draw sketches from the photos. Now the kids have a drawing of themselves as kids. I checked it out enough to know it's legit. A niche, not to put a negative spin on it. Some of the drawings are quite good, and some closer to folk-art. They all hang from a single point, a little serrated hanger with notches. A pain in the butt. Hard to get them straight because you can't see behind them, to find the correct notch. I do a decent job, the show looks good, really; I move some lights and it looks better. D didn't leave me any signage but I had a graphic idea and decided to just do it myself, note to phone Victor tomorrow and call in a favor. Please sir, if you'll cut this vinyl lettering for me today, I'll gladly buy you a case of beer. The barter network. A code that allows great liberty but imposes certain limitations. You can't go anywhere, you can't be away overnight, as the goats need milking, and there is cheese, that needs turning and salting. Bottle three cases of beer, decant five gallons of Elder Blow wine, that is to be added as an aromatic to a mixed berry base. Nothing prepares you. As it happens, this is the best wine I ever make, I remember it like earlier today. You remember earlier today, don't you? When we promised to walk five miles a day?