Oblique

It's what you don't say, Neil had said to me. Which is, of course, the case. Not commenting is a way of drawing attention. I have eleven mice in the freezer, but the crows always show up in twos or threes, so I see a squabble in the future. Prime numbers are a pain in the ass when you're trying to divide things equally. Ugly outside, cold and gray, and as the top layer of leaves dry, they dance around like drunken birds: what I think of as disconcerting erratic movement. Did I mention that I hate the refrigerator? When I'm writing I usually kill the breaker, which requires that I have a permanent posted note reminding me to flip the breaker back on. There's also a permanent posted note (I like the sound of that) that tells me to look at the other notes, that I keep on the table next to the stuff I have to put in my pockets before I leave the house. The various lists and reminders. Fucking leaves, man, they're driving me crazy, I just want it to be dark again, when all I have to do is listen. I inadvertently killed a young raccoon. There was an argument going on at the compost heap and I was tired of their blather, so I went out with my sling-shot and shot in that direction. There was a mad rush through the mast, and then it got very quiet. Too quiet. I went back inside for a flashlight. Sure enough, I'd actually killed a young coon with a ball-bearing to the skull. Must be one shot in several hundred million, and I vow to buy a lottery ticket, but a dead coon is a dead coon. Skin it out, take the loin and hams, and soak them in a brine. Someplace between sleet and hail. There's nothing to be gained by crying uncle. Dredge then brown the pieces of meat. Braise them with some root vegetables. Thicken the gravy and serve on egg noodles. I took a nap and woke, a couple of hours later, to absolute silence. Several inches of new snow and it was still snowing hard. Well and truly trapped. I should have taken the Jeep down when TR called yesterday, but I elected to just let the cards fall, I didn't feel like putting on my boots; my hip felt fine, but I didn't feel like taking a hike. I'll get out on Tuesday, maybe, eight days on the ridge, and I'll still have nine dollars in my wallet. A critical element of my new economy is that if you don't leave the ridge, you don't spend any money. The silence is total, three or four inches of new snow. I'm sitting in a daze, staring into the middle distance, when I hear a train in Kentucky, across the river, and it reminds me that there is a world, out there, beyond my immediate concern. The WORLD, writ in caps; but that I didn't necessarily have to pay attention. I could duck back under the covers and pretend I was still asleep, or I could get up and stoke the fire. All I ask is full attention to the moment, it doesn't seem like that much.