Seasonal Weather

April rain on the back of March wind. I had to shut down while a squall line blew through, spitting hail, a patter song on the roof and deck. Very intense for ten minutes, then it dribbles rain for the rest of the day, while I drink smoked tea and research the long-eared white people building ziggurats in the Andes. A phone call from an old high school flame, I couldn't believe it, she'd tracked me down via my posts, to which she had been alerted by another former classmate in that network of those people who do that. I'm not hard to find, evidently. She got a phone book online. She'd been reading me for several weeks and it had surprised her, the person I had become. When she knew me, I was supposed to become a lawyer and then maybe a politician; and that didn't happen, I didn't even attend my graduation because I already had my first job in professional theater. Harder rain, and the wind is a muted roar, rolling thunder to the south moving toward the southeast, well away from me. She wants to know how I got there. The where of that is fairly nebulous. Later, after an entire day spent reading, I make an excellent stir-fry with sweet red peppers, mushrooms, and some beef tips, on a bed of pecan rice. Rain hammering hard on the roof. The driveway should be fine and this could be the last threat to egress because the trees will be leafed-out soon and then they drink all the moisture. Between showers I'm outside walking around, rolling thunder to the south, and I'm feeling good, having survived. Only three trips out and in that were remotely dangerous and I can avoid even those in the future, with a little more care to the larder. I'll want more acorns next year, and an additional sack of cornmeal, a few more cans of things I can eat without thinking, but I got it almost right this year, a combination of tinned sardines and South American corned beef. A small freezer stuffed with soy protein and greens. Rice and beans. I cut a deal with a pig farmer so that I end up with quite a bit of sow belly that I can turn into salt pork. Chewing on pork rinds is probably why I didn't seek higher office, it's hard to trust someone who drools. So much salt and so little substance. Still, if it feels right, you should probably see where it leads. Might well be a dead end, but you have to open all the doors. Someone, B I think, said something about responsibility. Everyone hit the exits. 42 trampled to death, 84 drowned when the ferry capsized, and a muffled cry goes out, "my dear sir, what about my check?" Frogs and crows, and mice that I microwave, I swear, I have no vested interest in this. My other self argues that I knew all along, but I'm sure I believe that; I'm just a simple guy, looking at trace tracks, most of them deformed by melt. The real world is just a construct. The wind is blowing. Leaves dancing. I finally just have to retreat, it's all too much, really.