Tuesday, October 19, 2004

It's only mid-October. The snow came and went. No sign of it now but the damage done, the dead dead hillsides and sodden firewood. But the cloud cover stays and the wind howled all night long. The fires went out in both stoves. Not even the Goddess could hold the warm for us until morning. At six I'm moved by the cold and howling to leave my cozy comfort and pull on my hoodie and slip into the cold dark, the howling house, to light the fires. I let the dogs loose to bark at winter while I set the kettle on the iron plate and switched the space heater on the tortoise in his closet, where he hunkered under his inadequate lamp. And here we are an hour later, back on the bed, watching the fire, drinking the coffee, a dog at my feet drowsing at the flames, another, curled between my knees, twitching and jerking in deep-dream sleep. The outer day brightens into gray. Soon I must force myself back into the cold to release the visiting Big Dog from his crate and send him out to gallop and snort and buck his joy--what's "cold" to a big dog?--in the soggy dooryard. Brother descends from his little room and creeps about the kitchen with his cornflakes, so happy every morning to greet his breakfast milk to himself and be so quiet. The pump is running again after four dry days. If I'm very careful I can afford a long hot shower. Yesterday I unearthed my old red long-johns, my Guatemalan sweaters. The season may be here to stay. Or it may be just a lengthy preview--the ten-day forecast gives us this every day. There's wood to split. And finally my loft office is itching to get to work. 8:09:35 AM    comment []