Invasive Species

Tumbleweed, Cheat-Grass, Foxtail, a litany. Not to mention rabbits or pigs, that snake in Guam. The global economy spreads disease (that might not be the correct word) like rats in the stowage. Got all the wash water inside (below twenty tonight) and winterized a few places that won't be open again until March, insulated and covered the AC unit. Weather-stripping is a great thing. Vacuumed some corners and spider-webs. Made a pot of pea soup which won't be very good until tomorrow. Still, I had some, with a toasted cheese sandwich, and it was immensely satisfying. There's a lot to be said for warm soup. I added a layer of clothes today, but still no long underwear. Wearing my JC sweater, and feeling almost pampered, the house, even with falling temps, is actually warmer. If I knew what a jig was, I'd dance one. What floats. It's a great relief, having my water stowed away, a pot of food for tomorrow. That way I can get up and finish this biography of T. H. White that JC sent, I've read so many British authors and biographies, that I've started to think with an accent. I heard it start to snow, just before daylight. A very subtle sound, something about snow falling on the leaves on the deck is actually audible, Barely audible. I rolled up in my mummy-bag and went back to sleep. Flurries all day, so beautiful. I finished the biography, then the Dante book, spent a few hours reading myself closely. Change a few things, argue some punctuation. Just before dark I go out for an armload of wood, cold, blowing snow. Stack the wood, 2 by 2, near the stove. Jerome called, from Oregon, wondering if I was alive. I tend to get these calls when my modem crashes and I'm more or less completely isolated. Who would know if I were alive or not? A wink and a nod, I don't even know. I assume I'm alive because I feel the cold, surely the afterlife would have a thermostat. I've been caught, a number of places, by weather usually, tornadoes and hurricanes, a sudden cold; dance around the fire, sleep with the sheep.