Arcane Explanation

You can look for that, something that would make sense; in my experience, it's never quite there. But you can look for it nonetheless, a white lily, like Emily presented to Higginson, a field of black poppies, Norton, Virginia. Cold house, so I start a hot fire of poplar and red maple. Ice on the back porch and the leaves crunch when I go out to pee and dump my nighttime piss-pot. Overcast. My three crow friends await their morning repast, so I go back inside and microwave a couple of frozen mice. The field mice are moving back inside. Early in the mouse trapping season they're quite stupid and I catch two or three a night. A Pileated woodpecker arrived and set up quite a drumming in the early morning air. They are a beautiful bird, the crest so vibrant. I love watching them, they're so goddamned industrious they make me feel like a slacker. I don't get everything done that I had intended. Split wood for a while, then walked down the logging road. Slipped into a meditative state in which I pretty much questioned the validity of everything. How did I end up here? Have I wasted my life? Is the reward worth the sacrifice? On the way home I found a nice edible boletus, probably the last mushroom of the season, and I immediately imagined mushroom slices and beans on toast. I have eggs and bread in reserve, I'm a careful guy, for the most part. And it is worth it, whatever price I pay. The biological imperative becomes a footnote. Ultimately you're left with yourself. It's the hard lesson, that we are utterly alone. All that ersatz communication plays into the myth. Those French guys were correct. When I raid the Tim Horton Fall Arrangement for the squash before they rot, I feel I'm doing a public service. Doing right by doing wrong.