Nothing Serious

Early morning rain, such a lovely way to come to consciousness. Slightly dark, sunrise still half-an-hour away. No wind as the tops of the trees come into light (the clouds had opened, as they do, right at the horizon). The rain comes in dribbles and drabs. This year's crop of squirrels are being frisky, so I make a double espresso, roll a smoke, and watch them until it's fully light. I made hash from the last of a London Broil, with a perfect egg on top and considered the new pile of reading matter. Sunday is reading day, after all. Actually, now, any day is reading day, but Sunday is specifically dedicated as a reading day, and on a good one, I'll read two books, usually one for pleasure and one for research. One of the books B had passed over to me, Unruly Places, is actually the second book within a week that I had heard a review of, on NPR, and read within days. It's a good book, and I recommend it, not that he's a great writer, Mr. Bonnett, but that the subject is so interesting. Places that aren't on the map. I have my own list of such sites. A friend in the BLM turned me onto a place, deep in the southern end of the San Rafael Swell in Utah, where nothing had been disturbed for a very long time. I was the first ever white man to scale down a cliff face to look closely at an eagle's nest on a particular ledge in western Colorado; I've survived many nights, well blow zero, by collecting all the dry wood within easy gathering and drying my socks over a fire at the mouth of a cave. I know what it takes, but I don't want to expend that much energy anymore. I'd rather sit very still and watch the wildlife. Birds are good, they hop about on two legs and sing. And the fox has a grace that shames most of the people I know. Read a new book on Richard III, and after a long period of saying he wasn't so bad, new material indicates that he was very black indeed. Shakespeare's Richard. Interesting times, the 1480's. Richard's battle-axe was actually a battle-hammer. Because of the armor, you bruised your opponent to death; killed his horse then beat him until he couldn't breathe. A small head was preferable because it smashed the armor in, where a broad blade would just bounce off. What it looks like is a twenty ounce framing hammer at the end of a 30 inch iron handle. I'd never seen this weapon before. If someone is coming at you with a sword you break their wrist. Then you indent the sign of the cross on their chest. We've come a long way. Boys from Iowa, collecting Viet Cong ears. But the whole "process" is remarkably the same: you collect the sap and boil it down, you end up with syrup. We're all trailer trash.