Year's End

Twenty-five degrees today, fifteen tonight. I carried a little wood, got ready for another day at the woodpile tomorrow. Red beans and rice cooking, I'll make cornbread. Keep it simple. The fox was lovely today, fluffed out full-winter coat, she hung around for two apples while I watched, perched on a stump. I buy small local apples quite cheaply and I always keep two in the pockets of my Carhartt work coat when I'm outside. I'll remember this past year as the one in which I left the museum, and any other gainful employment, to spend my time reading and writing; and as the year in which I discovered the crows liked for me to microwave their mice. Carrying apples in my pocket for the fox, and thawing a frozen mouse seems like the least I could do. I need a lot more wood next year. Staying home for long periods of time. And I need to consider the pantry differently, if I don't want to go to town. Actually, I do usually enjoy going to town, flirting, looking, listening; but I'm comfortable at home, and I always want to get back there, hopefully, before dark. Start a fire, heat or reheat something, notice a thread, see where it might lead, it's just the way I am. It's not an act. I encourage this behavior in others. Took an early evening nap so that I'd wake up after midnight in order to stoke the stove. Fifteen degrees and falling when I got up about 1:30, caught the fire and stayed up for an hour until I could damp things back down. The last wee dram of Glendronach to toast the new year. Lovely orange sunrise and a very peaceful holiday, no phone calls, no visits. The red beans and rice was excellent, the cornbread was hot. Worked outside for several hours, splitting and building a loose stack, the wind was blowing and I wanted to lose some of the surface moisture, I'll bring it in and rick inside tomorrow. I split out a bunch of starter sticks and I still have some of the old oak baseboard for kindling. A little sore, but it was wonderful being outdoors, mostly clear, 32 degrees. It was a good year for squirrels, a dozen yearlings in view at one time today, frenetic whipping tails everywhere. I'm taking it easy, stopping for a hot tea break every hour, and as this isn't a job, I'm free to just stop what I'm doing and listen. Also, when I go in for tea, I often read, sometimes I get sidetracked. Usually, truth be told. Still, after I came inside, stoked the fire and peeled off my outer layer, cleaned up a bit, got a drink and rolled a smoke, I just had to go back outside and look at what I had accomplished. Piles of wood that reflect exactly what's needed. B does this even better than me, he's the Zen Master of firewood. I'm more like Sabrina in Wilder's play, pass up the fucking chairs. But it was nice to look at those physical piles today, then read for a while, then eat some more red beans and rice, then, maybe write, if I could just find the next sentence.