Dark Matter

B said, and I trust him on this, that the bear probably weighs 300 pounds. Built like a fire plug. No waist to speak of and low to the ground. Black is a relative word, the crows for instance are somewhat more than merely black; stick trees, against a ground of winter snow, are dark, but all the colors of the universe are contained within. The pelt of a black bear is like that. Refract whatever light there is, and there's almost always some. I don't do caves or other close spaces, because I get anxious, but I understand the concept of very dark. I often close my eyes, to see something more clearly, but color bleeds through. And schematic drawings. Don't get me started. I design useless things as a matter of course. Today I was thinking about a press that would make black walnut oil easier to extract. What I'd like to do is fry some potatoes and then some fish in walnut oil. Some hush-puppies. My current method of expressing oil is primitive: I shell, then pound, and let walnuts sweat oil in sunlight. It's a laughable system, but I amuse myself. It's a very good oil for the final curing of cast iron cookware, and it makes a superior salad dressing. Reading a biography of Richard Hakluyt, then reading the explorers he chronicled; and taking the history of the pencil a chapter at a time, because I have to go back and read some Thoreau. He worked in his dad's pencil factory when he needed cash. I didn't know that Henry's cabin was on Emerson's land. It was interesting to read about his day pack, which was similar to my own. He was a damned good surveyor, and it was said he could pace off a mile better than anyone alive. I respect that, though I could never walk in a straight line, but that's my problem. I resisted the impulse to run back into town and get another dozen oysters, and just ate the last of the lemon sorbet.