On the 15th of February, I took a walk up the hill. The following day, I toured the beach in this picture. No snow either day. Balmy.
Today, grey cat woke me early. The trash can was knocked over and the recycling was scattered. I stopped at the end of the driveway to pick up what I could before the truck – at the crest of the hill – arrived. The man on the back mentioned it had been windy, and we waved as he pulled away. I picked up the rest of the farther flung cans, then drove to the post office with wet feet because I wore shoes to “pop into the post office” not chase yogurt cups through the wet yard. This is weather that tries a person’s soul.
Everything has been trying recently.
On the walk of the 15th, I witnessed the drama of a dead pine tree close up and raw. Most February’s are too cold or snowy to consider such a walk and that’s the way it should be, I think, to have spring buds surrounding you when you encounter dead friends.
Or to temper your anger upon finding evidence of a two-story building on our neighbor’s lot that is highly unlikely to have been issued a permit to be built. Why would they bother when “no one” can see it. What do they care about drainage issues or killing an animal’s habitat?
Ah well, at least – at this second in time – there is fruit.
Thank you if you went and read my story in Fictive Dream this month. Thank you for stopping by and for reading this, too.
T. L. Sherwood 
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