Wind and Rain

I went out to dump the piss-pot and the wind nearly knocked me over. The house is very nearly warm, I have to take off my bathrobe, and I drink a huge quantity of snow melt because the house is so dry. I need to bring in some damp wood. I have to take off my hat. Maybe I can wash my hair and clean up tomorrow, I have fifteen gallons of wash water I've harvested today. A fifty-fifty chance I'll get to town before the next round of snow, so I make a careful list. A pound of corn meal, a pound of butter, a large russet, a red pepper, a two pound bag of onions, a pint of cream, a can of frozen tangerine juice, a piece of salt-pork so I can make a pot of beans. With a bottle of whiskey, maybe a 12 pound pack; not much, but more than enough to see me through. Slog up, Basho in the gloom. Heat water and have a cup of tea with a pat of butter. I had a green ham steak in the freezer and it had a goodly rim of fat. I cut the fat off and rendered it, and had cracklings for a batch of, I'm embarrassed to say, a pone of Jiffy Mix cornbread from my survival larder. It was quite good, toasted, with butter and molasses. The rain's getting harder and I need to be ready to shut down. This is when I need a lap-top and an extra battery. Or a headlamp and a good book. Or a completely cold trail I was supposed to follow. I don't give a shit about protocol. My beast is insidious, and I like it that way. Let's say you wake up in Norwalk, Virginia, a Motel 8, they have a free continental breakfast and you get two of everything. Go back to your room and have plenty of time to watch a movie before you check out. I'm struck with the act of creation. That you could imagine such a thing. The wind picks up out of the west. I'd better go.