So that's what I'm looking at. At least a week of actual winter, and a prediction of snow this coming Thursday, and maybe a bit more the following Monday morning. Well, we'll be glad to have it, and any rain that comes along as well, as the mountain snowpack is thin and the water situation next summer is looking grim. But the storms aren't very wet, and the forecast never quite reaches 100% for any of the predicted rain and snow days, so there might not be much snow in those storms, and anyway its too late in the season to catch up with the shortfall even if we were to get a whole series of storms that actually are wet. Which we almost certainly won't.
But I managed to get the shopping done, and will not starve for another week at least, and din't even feel miserably cold doing it. The feeling miserable will probably come tomorrow when I go outside to feed he feral cats and dump the ice out of their water bowls and replace the water, assuming the pipes aren't frozen, but I won't have to go anywhere and can just stay indoors burning money in the form of gas for the furnace. The cats are the ones who will be really miserable. The ones who don't fight with Portia will get to come in for the night, of course, if they are brave enough.
Anyway. The shopping took a big chunk out of the day, most of the earlier part of which I slept away. I should go cook one of the things I bought today, then watch television from under a pile of blankets. It's supposed to hit 33 degrees around ten o'clock. Then get back up to 42 sometime tomorrow afternoon. Brrr. So weird. So disorienting.
Sunday Verse (well, Prosepoem)
by Michael Earl Craig
You can take blood from my arm but you can't have my shoes. The shoes are the windows onto the soul. Mine were made for walking but I drive everywhere. When I have to walk I get cranky. Or I think about things, things I don't want to think about. Like the time they pushed all the pianos into the street and doused them with gasoline, and that young woman, the journalist, they shot her in the neck with a tranquilizer dart. Or the kittens I saw floating down the river on the refrigerator door. Pieces of the city drifted past us. There was the red moon. There were the fake doctors with their fake doctors' bags loaded with dynamite. I threw my sweater in the river. Big deal. A day later it turned up on my doorstep, folded and smelling like lemons. This made me furious.