Windy

Blowing a steady 25-30 mph, enough to rattle your brain, but the sun was out all day and it was a lovely thing. Blackberries are fixing to bloom, going to be really lovely here in a few days. Puttered around the museum today, kept going outside for smoke breaks, lolling on the loading dock. As I am now, officially, the facilities manager I spent some time looking at the facilities. Need more light in some storage spaces. Took Astra Anthony's friend's bread to take to Issac's parent's house for the crab boil on Sunday. Several kinds, and this is as good as any bread I've ever had. Marilyn and I ground wheat berries, and other things, and made extraordinary bread for years. This is that good. She was worried about what to take. I love crab boils. At my parents, we did them almost weekly all the years in Florida. Put the crabs into boiling water on the big grill in the backyard, cover the table on the screened porch with newspaper, throw some corn in with the crabs, melt heart-stopping amounts of butter, placed in ramekins between diners. Mostly we used nutcrackers, but some people had small wooden hammers they carried in holsters. Large gray cloud-mass moving in from the west. No thunder yet. I SAVE anyway. Enough morels for an omelet. Life is good. I found a few stalks of wild asparagus, which means there was house up here, but damned if I can find any trace. A little rumble of thunder, but it's coming from the southwest, this particular front of gulf air, and my power comes from the northwest. I should be OK to keep writing. I just went back and added some commas, I needed more pauses. To be clear, and I was trying to be clear, and to set the cadence. I wanted the natural voice. Sometimes I can find it. But it's difficult to hold on, when every aspect of modern culture is pulling you away. The delicate nature of things. I watch these May-Apple blossoms explode in the under-story, and that assumes certain things; this time of year, I carry a shovel, as part of my kit. I address certain drainage issues, and wonder if I make any difference. Probably not. A few notes from the field. An attempt to redirect the flow. High wind and rain, you can't really do anything with that, a fact of nature. Hole up, hide under the stairs, avoid the shattered glass. Other people's problems are not my own, and I have problems enough. I seem to have agreed to make dinner for four of us. Don't see a problem with that, dinner for four is a no-brainer, just something I imagine; but two of these people I've never met. I yam what I yam. Right? Slaving over a hot stove. No one mentioned authenticity, which was the real issue; look back closely, you'll see what I mean. Blossoms in the under-story.

Tom

Three crows mean
nothing, a simple
distraction.