Oak leaves are mittens blown and caught in the treetops

It’s cold.

Cold feels wrong to me, like the absence of something. Even though it is the normal condition of our climate, particularly in November, and pretty much through April.

I need a mental climate adjustment. Love the cold; live the cold.

I’m typing this in a chair next to a gas fireplace.


Zeus in the woods

The days don’t seem long enough. Life doesn’t seem long enough.

Our dog turned 7 in October. He’s older than I am now, in dog years.

Driving north along the coast yesterday, the sun was low in the sky behind me. The ocean, rocks, beaches, marshes, houses, little closed up shops, fishing boats in Rye Harbor, white behemoth Wentworth Hotel were bathed in the fiery last light of sunset and it was beautiful. And it was 3:45 p.m.

Carpe diem.

The white sun
like a moth
on a string
circles the southpole.
– A. R. Ammons, Late November