Catkin Rain

Stunning colorful dawn but it looked like it was snowing bizarre Frank Zappa yellow snow. I was immediately suspect, because I'd run AC the night before. A catkin fall the likes of which I had never seen before. Pollen was thick in the air. The sky turned slightly yellow, like it does when a hurricane hits. It's supposed to rain, and I hope it does, to wash the leaves clean. TR told me that they had boxed up the last of my stuff at the museum, and I needed to pick it up, so I went into town to do that. Mark and Charlotte joined TR and me at the pub. They're all very busy right now, accepting work to be juried for "The Cream Of The Crop" and I can't wait to get out of there. Stopped at Kroger and there were a bunch of those individually packed filets of beef tenderloin, wrapped in bacon, on sale. $2.99, and I bought three; I wish I'd bought a dozen, two in the freezer, and one grilled tonight, finished with a duxelle of morels. High on the hog. Explain that to your Chinese friends. A serious line of spring thunder storms closes me down. Curled on the sofa, reading Procopius, The Secret History, a tawdry tale, Theodora and the whole sick crew, while it rains cats and dogs. Wearing my LED headlamp, the batteries for which seem to go on forever. I think about batteries, now and again, the concept of storing energy. The thunder storm was shaking the house and the flashes of lightning were blinding if you happened to looking in that direction. Millions, billions of BTUs, if there was just a way to store them. Phase-change salts, pools of mercury deep under ground, very large flywheels; even if you were sloppy, wasted 80%, you could still power a small town. Big wheel keeps on turning. You'd need a really stout alternator. That's not my problem, hand it off to the engineers. They only call me in when the situation is desperate. What would you call that? A fall-back perspective? When Black Dell calls, I answer. Nothing, more or less. Rolling on the river. An innocent question becomes a serious event. The rain is still dripping on the roof, everything is a patter song. Off the beat, I'm not so sure there's a melody, but it sounds like song. Consider birds at dawn.