Changing States

Solid to liquid to vapor. Some days you get it all, other days not so much. I was talking with B about reading poetry, which we both do nearly every day, and how the moment came when you could hear it in your brain. Talked with TR about the opera today, then called him this afternoon and talked some more. I'm beginning to hear something. It has to do with memory, fireflies, and the seasons. Because of the cold, I stopped shaving several days ago, and I can't decide whether I'm growing a beard or not. I didn't shave for twenty years, then I liked shaving, because I felt clean, and it seemed to clear my mind, now it doesn't matter: I'm never clear and I don't give a shit what anyone thinks. Posit not making sense, which is almost impossible, you make sense whether you mean to or not. The rest of us get it, all we need is a clue. I needed to split wood, bring a few ricks inside, but it's supposed to be fifty degrees tomorrow, and I figured what the fuck, I ain't dead yet, and I'd rather read now and split wood tomorrow. D calls, from thirty miles north, wondering if I'm ok, and I assure him things are fine. What we have here is a frozen crust, and I can deal with that. Side-tracked by researching various popes in the Britannica, which was great fun. I feel like I'm getting a handle on the 14th century. Further distracted by the fox strutting up the driveway. She's so fucking cute. She slips off into the woods, heading toward the graveyard. I know her den is there, but I've never looked for it. I don't want to know where it is. It's not like I don't care, but I like the mysteriousness. Make a note to buy a bag of cheap apples. They're our main method of communication. Mice for the crows and apples for the fox. Big winds coming tonight, so I have to be ready to shut down, I'm saving everything. The wind makes a strong statement on the ridge, when the leaves are gone and there's no mediation. Dead trees will take out the power lines tonight. I have my headlamp and a decent fiction.