Constant Drip

Incessant dripping woke me before dawn and the wind picked up. The wind will certainly help the mud situation, which is extreme. Dangerous footing, so I stay inside. A large plate of canned sliced potatoes fried in jowl fat, and I had seconds, which is rare for me. Reading about tidal nodes. Key West, for instance; the Caribbean pulling one way and the Atlantic pulling the other, and they cancel out. The wind picks up, and this is good, I need to get to town in the next few days, one more re-supply of the larder, and I have a list of what I've used, will see me through. I don't even actually need a re-supply, but I'm thinking about fresh vegetables and a bar of chocolate; I will need whiskey, tobacco and papers, fresh eggs. By dark most of the snow is gone and the wind is howling. The driveway could be dry tomorrow, certainly by Sunday or Monday, so I'll be able to stock up and get through the last of winter. Even, as I suspect, we'll have another round of severe weather. It won't matter, another pot of soup, the library called with a couple of books, I can always hole up for another couple of weeks. Being alone and reading is something I do very well. Whatever gets you through the night. Jesus, the wind is blowing. I shut down and got out my headlamp. Went out at dawn, to check the footing and it's still fairly awful. The wind died down but it was quite warm, maybe fifty degrees, so I took out a mug of coffee and had a smoke. And there it is, the winter ridge, lovely in its barrenness. The mat of leaves is still damp with melt, the birds are all out, and the squirrels. A slow walk over to the head of the driveway, and I saw that I could get out, but I wasn't sure about the getting back in, so I postponed the trip to town, the weather's supposed to be decent for a couple of days, I might even go to town twice, do my laundry and buy some new underwear. Tomorrow it's supposed to be warmer still, and I need to focus my attention on getting clean, washing my hair, trimming my beard; I look like something cast up by the last storm. One of those catfish that walk from pool to pool. It's acknowledged that I don't give a shit about what I look like, I usually don't know what I look like. I'm always surprised when someone says I look one way or another. Rag-picker, rat catcher, or an actual academic talking about the origin of the fork. My interest is mostly sidereal. Bean soup and cornbread.

Basho:

winter seclusion:
again I'll lean back against
my old post