Fragments From Floyd

It will take some getting used to, sleeping again with the windows open from the top at night. Sounds from outside fly in through the screens and bounce around the heart pine walls. The creek throws its voice, a liquid ventriloquist. All night the unfamiliar susurration speaks in dreams of thrashing machines, conveyors, stadiums full of voices and waterfalls.

I live in a house divided. Now with the days heating up, the mornings are both the best time to read-write-think and the only reasonable time to work in the garden and yard. I've just had a planning meeting with my staff to allocate resources and personnel (which would be me--the Army of One) and it is agreed (though no papers were signed) that writing and related activities end at dawn. Then tilling, planting, weeding, watering and other such things go on until the sun rises over the eastern ridge and grows unfriendly warm by about 9:30.

This was a bad winter for getting wood, snow and ice from early December til late March. This year I don't have all of next year's and most of the one after that already laid by like I usually do at the coming of warm weather. Now its past season. Cutting wood for heat while sweating severs the nerve of enthusiasm for the task somehow.

Staying one step ahead, or hopefully no more than one step behind, the grass and weeds are homeowner's tasks that I disdain. Fortunately, I married well: Ann likes to cut grass. And, this being the first mowing season for the dog, we've discovered Tsuga likes to eat those soggy clumps that the mower coughs up when we cut the yard damp. Puppy salad, I suppose. Maybe we could train him to do the close trimming around the walkway, and cut down on his daily dogchow. I'd say I have it pretty good, a man with wife and dog who love yard maintenance.

I put the screens up yesterday. I cut the grass yesterday. I wore shorts to town last night, and Tevas. I think I'm ready to concede that spring is here. Finally. Well, now I know. It is 6:24 and pert near light enough to shift those duty-gears I was talking about. Time for one more half cup of coffee out on the porch to make the transition.