8am. Not as cold but awful outside. Rain over ice with more snow expected.
Burning almost the last of the wood. Not sure how to get any delivered until a bit of a meltdown occurs. So just one fire in the morning and then space heaters run to keep things comfortable till sunset.
I noticed the path out was reflected in Soul-o's eye.
So here we are. The man in a chair across the room. Reading international news on his laptop. And me really feeling the need to stretch out. 2:30 PM And now, when I finally get around to hitting the publish button, 50 degrees! Not for long but still this is what I love about March.
But honestly I just don't feel like saying a lot about it. Like the sense of spring that fills me today despite the snow expected this evening, the sense of something that has to do with everything I am considering remains unutterable in terms of what that actually might be.
And so it seems to go. I rest between doing and saying. In the between. A seam unstitched. A moment in March that has lasted longer than a day.
This place used to scare me. Now it seems more and more like home.