Coal Black

Coal is certainly one of the seven deadly sins. I burn wood with my head turned aside. Two old crows remind me. Stopped hauling wood when I felt a pain in my lower back. Came inside and used a heat pad. It's ok now. I'll wear the back brace tomorrow. Michael bought it for me in Utah, when we were building a butt-and-pass log cabin for an older couple, outside of Monticello, south of Moab. My Internet stopped working but I still had a phone line and I figured that either the modem had died again (they're getting hard to find) or that Black Dell was giving up the ghost. Read the Best Short Stories:1994 (Goodwill) and fixed a great omelet. I'm coming around to thinking that the meat from short beef ribs, simmered for several hours on a bed of something, is the best meat in the world. Pork tenderloin, giving up its banner, flings me a finger. And I see the small LED flash, that signals I'm connected. Read and write. Go to bed. To avoid begging off, I get right up this morning and put on the heavy Carhartt bib-overalls and my work boots. Supposed to rain later and I want to get all the rough-split wood under cover. Lose track of the number of trips, but I haul 24 large quarters and 24 halves. They'll all need splitting again. Many breaks but get it done concurrent with the first rumbles of thunder. Somewhat sore and inordinately pleased with myself. Getting dangerously dark now, at three o'clock. I get an early drink and take an Aleve. Read some emails, one from a student at Chautauqua who'd tracked down a copy of a book of mine from decades ago. "Anacoluthon", back when I was being fairly opaque. He liked it, and on rereading, so did I. It's storming now, a full gale. Can't see across the hollow. The leaves are being stripped from the trees. Violent amounts of water on a driveway that is less protected. The catchments will be clogged tomorrow and I just hope the grader ditch hasn't jumped across. Establishing a road-bed is always problematic. I'd better go, I'm sure to lose service.