Wild Honey

In Mississippi, I was tearing down an old house because I wanted the cypress siding. The south wall was full of bees. It was winter, and I went in armed with a CO 2 fire extinguisher, got a few quick gallons of honey, and beat it out of there. What brought that to mind, I saw the first honey bees today, working the sassafras blossoms. I could find their honey tree, it's fairly easy, you just follow them, but I don't want to deal with bees right now. I read a great many pages of writing today, putting together some things to take to Chautuaqua. Pretty much what I did all day. Took a little walk, read a short history of vegetables. Finished eating the risotto, formed into small cakes, with an egg binder, and fried, with a lovely duxelle. These were sinful, I had them for breakfast and lunch, and had a bowl of cereal for dinner. I'll need to go to town, tomorrow or Wednesday, get the last of my stuff from the museum, get TR to save the last of my emails before I dump AOL, see if Old Black Dell can handle the transition. Probably the fittings aren't the same, and I'll have to buy a new computer anyway, and sure, I need a tablet, with a battery, so I can write when the power is out, and I need a cell-phone, so I can call AAA when I have a flat tire. Or whatever. Speaking of re-frying. Re-fried beans should always be fried into crisp patties, not eaten as baby-food. They should be fried in lard. There was a great Mexican diner near Four-Corners, that fixed the greatest re-fried bean patties ever, the pinto bean capital of the world was just down the road, Dove Creek, Colorado, and they had a free supply. Honey was also the name of a stripper I got to know in Florida. Mom had been making her costumes for many years, and we met at a fish-fry. I wasn't looking to get involved, I'd say, probably, just the opposite. We actually talked about American Tonalism, and whether or not it meant anything, she asked me to come back with her, to look at her etchings, and I knew it was a tangle. Hard rain, I have to go. The power was out for a couple of hours, and after the storm front moved through, deep silence, the smell of ozone and fecund wetness. Black Dell is wheezing and I have to turn on the little window AC unit so I can work. I hate the AC, because it severs contact with the natural world, but Black Dell and I have an arrangement. When I came back in today, after a foray to town, B's 4-Runner was parked in his space, so I parked at the top of the driveway and walked over to his place. His cabin is 'The Hermit's Dream', the perfect stage-set for an opera I have to get TR to write. He was naked, when I yelled from down the path: it's considered polite, in hill country, to announce your presence, otherwise you're libel to get your ass shot off. By the time I got to his door he'd pulled on boxer shorts. We drank water and talked about Day-Lilies. Down in town the Iris are so beautiful it takes my breathe away. I've run the math on this, and the more times you're amazed, the better. Not that it makes life easier, but that you feel alright about your self. I have to go, it's already tomorrow, and I'm not prepared. Poke me with a stick, you'll see what I mean. Where any silt settles, a delta. Honey can you bring me home. A lonely sax, a few lentils, thrown on a snare drum, sounds about right.