More Storms

The weather had to break and that usually means a transition event. Mid-afternoon the first line of storms moves through, taking out the power (I had the house cooled down somewhat) then another line and the phone goes out. In an hour the power is back on, but there are squalls all around. B came over for a chat, brought a piece about his encounter with the rattlesnake; he's going to Mexico next month, someplace safe, to spend 10 days with some writer pals. More thunder, but I want to write. The young poplars are looking terrible, the aphids and the hot weather have them already dropping yellowed leaves. B says another year of this weather, no real winter and thus no winter-kill, and a repeat of this recent hot dry blast and they'd be toast. They grow too fast to cover their ass, but they come back quickly, like sweet gums, and they'll survive, down in the creek bottoms. Mom called and she said she likes the new assisted living facility and is comfortable; it's just a house, actually, with five people that a mixed race couple take care of in exchange for $1600 each per month, which doesn't sound that bad to me. I couldn't do it. Rip me open and flay me alive.Then Dad gets on the phone, Mom has gone to pee, and he tells me it is now day to day, before Mom dies, and he has no intention of living long beyond that. OK, we got that out in the open. I assume he has a plan. I have a plan. Anyone with any sense has a plan. Plenty of time to think about that, because a vicious squall takes out the phone, and I can't even call my brother and sister, to get their take on the situation. I'm wondering if there even is an objective reality. It's amazing that the world functions, each of us wrapped so tightly in a personal universe. I'd been losing weight and I can't afford that, so I now keep sources of protein around that don't require chewing: avocados, yogurt, nut butters that I tend to eat by the spoon-full. Like with a very cold winter, these very hot spells are difficult to navigate. Not unlike those times, pre-instrument, when we tried to find which way was north. I had some jolly times in the woods, trying to remember on which side of the tree the mold grew. I've always had an unerring ability to find my way back to the path. It's a simple skill, you walk increasingly long diagonals until you intersect a deer trail. Then you just follow things to a conclusion. Not to simplify. The ground tilts, and leads down to the river. You'd be a fool not to lash together a few logs and see where that might take you.