Self Conscious

The color returns. The west slope of the hollow was awash in light, and I stopped to roll a smoke, sat on a stump and considered the alternatives. When I'm fully and completely on the ridge, a state of grace, the world of commerce pales. Dripping rain means I can collect water and wash a few things. Endless rain, the patter on the roof, I collect enough water for a full bath in the sheep-watering trough, and wash my troubles away. If you have running water this probably isn't a big deal, but five gallons of hot water is a big deal for me. Rained hard all morning, harvested enough rainwater to refill all my containers, power was out for several hours, but there was light to read, so I read three Elmore Leonard novels, early ones, three novels in one volume at the Goodwill for $1.49. Eat the last of the ribs. When it stops raining late in the afternoon, I go out on the back porch, sit on my foam pad, roll a smoke. There are buds happening, there are squirrels eating buds, the buzzards are back from wherever they go. Big winds tonight, but the clouds are clearing out, so I should be good to get to town, go the library, get whiskey and supplies for the week ahead, need to. Have lunch with TR, and take a load of stuff home from the museum. I need to get the Jeep an oil-change, I need to get my office Mac out here and get a printer hooked up, I'm lost without a printer because I need to look at hard copy; and I need a hundred pages, printed in twelve point type, to use at Chautuaqua. What's the phrase, delayed gratification?