Lesson Learned

Waning moon rises above a cloud-bank. It's beautiful, yellow tonight, bright white last night. I think that the fact of the moon being above the cloud-bank means that whatever sleet and snow has moved on into the mountains of West Virginia. They can have it. The cooking gig would probably be once a week, and I have no idea what it would pay. I'm terrible at setting a price on my time. If I like what I'm doing, I've always been a cheap date; if I don't like what I'm doing I move on to the next thing. It's a flux, isn't it? the way we move through our lives. Hold that thought. Two coons on the compost heap, fighting for some rotten cabbage, I might as well put the compost out in dishes. I watched an emaciated yearling buck rooting for acorns, two crows fighting over a micro-waved mouse, and a bunch of other birds pecking at the sumac, which they only do this late in the feeding season. Sumac must not have any food value, but for three months of the year it's the only color around. The birds always get around to it in March. A little wind, but warm enough that I can sit out on the back porch with a drink and a smoke. I keep a coffee can full of sand just inside the door, as my outdoor ashtray. The moaning of the wind is a lovely thing, but sitting in the dark, alone, demands too much reflection, and I went back inside. Familiar smells ramp down my inward spiral, I turn on the radio and listen to music for thirty minutes while I make and eat a snack. Great snack, two big diagonal slices of the pollen pork in a pita with jalapeno mayo. Out in the world, this would be a very expensive sandwich. I can't even imagine. Later this month, when I add morels cooked in butter, and the sauce I make, cleaning up from that, you'd have to eat this with a knife and fork, bow to the east, or whatever, and thank your lucky stars.