The rain this weekend brought the snow down. The banks along the road had the appearance of bunkers, white rounded, dirty. Like something you're meant to scramble over and then, as in Gallipoli, go to shreds in a hale of bullets.

I had trouble shoveling the walk out to the Galaxie and stopped even trying. I got bigger, better boots! That's one solution. And also the strange warm/cold/warm/cold has created a lowland of ice. Ice everywhere beneath everything. I've fallen a few times. When old people fall they think, "Well, this is it. I'm done for." Images of death and nursing homes.

When the winter finally dies into the warm palm of my hand, I long to get out into the woods. And for whatever reason I have this image of my old self sitting on a stump and getting rest in that way.

AMV 31 Happenstance/Drillwork has been posted. The description: "In which Sherwin takes a subscription to the Lemon Times, which newspaper he cannot read without special processing.”

Rough old time with olde 31. First, I didn't want to write about the murdering dismal snow, so I went back in time to the hard rains of October/November when I first began getting the Lemon Times. And then I had so many different things and stories to tell about that...but this imprisoning winter is so dissatisfying and so disruptive in so many ways that I could not rightly concentrate.

So there, I blame the snow.