It’s the middle of November, a time when we often have snow, but it must be nearly 70 outside this afternoon. Carole & I are going to meet a friend and go take a walk in the woods with the two boy terriers.
It was only an accident that I was awake for the actual moment of the new year’s arrival. Neither Carole nor I have been awake for the turning of the year in many years and last night we went to bed, as usual, around eleven o’clock, but one of the terriers woke me up jumping on or off the bed at about five to twelve. I can’t read an alarm clock without my glasses, so we have one of those old-fogie jobs that projects the time on the ceiling. The dog settled back down and I lay there watching the red numbers tick away to midnight. Very peaceful. This morning we drank black coffee & ate steel-cut oats with dried cherries, pecans, and brown sugar. I put half & half in my cereal; Carole virtuously put buttermilk in hers.
So anyway, every once in a while my friend (and frequent commenter on this blog) Ed Mycue sends me a sheaf of poems, which I read and put in a folder. Yesterday as I was trying to organize some manuscripts and drafts in a file drawer, I pulled out a stack of Ed’s poems. This one was on top — I think it may have arrive around this time last year — and I thought it would make a good New Year statement. Tempus fugit & all that.
i press on slogging through the daily shit with a silly smile on my lips possibly. up to my ankles in new ideas and dead friends. you can’t stay mad at life although madness is a condition with a long tail. and has a zoom lens. the labyrinth snakes through dreams switching evolutions and exchanging stigmas. ah me, said the iceland singer as she took another swing at the australian paparazzi.
That pretty much sums it up, I think. I’ve put out fresh suet and scattered seeds for the winter birds — it was ten below this morning when we woke up, but the sun is shining & we have a roaring fire going in the wood stove