the first snows of winter fell last night as I lay on the couch reading a cowboy tale. in the quiet of night I could hear scratching in the kitchen walls. with the lights off I walked over and listened. the scratching stopped. then it started again and it sounded like a frustrated attempt to something. I reckon B taught the mice a lesson when she plugged their hole with shredded strips of steel wool. eat that you little vector bastards.
this morning I set off up the hill in a low gear and swerved around the remnants of last night’s snow streaking the blacktop. above me the sky hung low like ferns in the forrest and dripped cold droplets of not quite ice and not quite snow on my face and beard. I thought the better of it and opted for the heavy winter lobster claw gloves. ain’t nothing worse than cold hands on the bike. traffic was slow and organized –drivers being afraid of sliding into each other.
riding a bike in the morning traffic means having heightened sense –every movement, every nuance is registered -from sounds behind me, to faces behind windshields in my periphery, to watching the front tires of the car ahead in order to anticipate a lane change or possible clip to the curb. in these moments of movement through space I wonder why in the hell someone would choose to ride with headphones.
winter is here. it’s time to settle in for the long haul and short daylight hours. there is a time for everything and if our lives are marked by seasons then I would embrace the change like life itself.