the weather.

A thing to do is count the short lives lived (developed personas, more like, chances are, right?) and a year or a month or a day gets in and I will remember it clearly, think about the jacket I was wearing, the food (quiche for a time, almond brittle another), oh the food (the season’s first split CSA box with Sean is a beaut).

Make a pile of clothes to donate before going out for the night. I’m usually one to run down everything I own into rags before considering offing it to charity. I guess I’m not that person all the time anymore.

I trekked mud into my house. I want to close my eyes for a bit, but then I won’t fold the clothes, I won’t get out of bed, I won’t find my scarf to help bolster (my neck?) against the cold and the wind and the rain of this spring. I want this cup of tea more.