Beautiful bright day today. I suppose my poembrain will rest now. Three books to get in the mail today. And then poems to revise, an essay to start. And the G4 has been exhibiting suicidal tendencies. With its CD drive recently down for the count, that means I may have to start it up off another machine to repair it. My networking skills are a little sketchy.
This morning Canada geese flew over. It's been nine months at least since I heard their raucous homely noise. I wonder whether they'll visit these ponds in springtime? whether they'll nest nearby? We always had so many on and around the farm. So much fun to watch them lead their broods across the pastures to the livestock ponds.
I have my seed and plant orders ready to send out come payday. I think I'll move forward as if I meant to stay here. Plan the vegetable garden. Fill up the green house. Fill out the herb garden and finish the paths. Maybe plant a tree or two. I don't know for sure what can be done about the potable water problem. The gardens will get the living water pumped from the creek and, if necessary, the large pond, as long as those sources hold out. We'll see how the drought treats us. We did get two inches of new snow overnight. The uninhabited place next door has plenty of well water, and so I wonder whether that might not mean there's a crack in the well liner here? Maybe all our water seeps away. I wonder what it costs to diagnose such a thing? and repair it?
If I accumulate a down payment maybe I should go ahead and buy this place. That's always been an option. Then I wouldn't hesitate to transform it. But I'd move up to the ridgetop.
I spoke with my younger son on the phone last night and it was good. A loving voice, a reciprocating kindness--these are good things. So many of us go too long at a time without such gifts. I feel lucky and grateful.
This dream stuff is getting out of hand. Last night I dreamed of John Kerry! It was dreadful. I decided my fairy-dust dream had to do with creativity's healing effects on the brain. These politico dreams may be telling me something about "executive function." Something's awry there, for sure. I know when I was having kidney problems a few years ago I kept having dreams about bursting pipes...
Bedtime trio: The Triggering Town, (Richard Hugo) (see earlier post); The Corrections (Jonathan Franzen); The Seth Material, almost finished (Jane Roberts). Waiting in the wings: The Biographer's Tale (A. S. Byatt); Working Time: Essays on Poetry, Culture, and Travel (Jane Miller); The Field: The Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe (Lynn McTaggart). I like to keep a novel, a book of literary essays, and a wacky nutty newage-y thing going at the same time so I can switch off. The latter are like comic books for me, very light and refreshing. Except I believe every word, even as I stand aside and make fun of myself. Preemptive deprecation, perhaps.
A couple of the morning's seredipitous discoveries: A great web page on the relationship between solitude and creativity. And a poem by Australia's Les Murray.
11:36:25 AM 
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