Snowing again. After every bit of white had melted away...snow. It’s February. Of course, snow. It’s coming down steadily. White. Wonderful. I’m cooped up, recovering from the flu. Day 992. I’m well over the worst of it but on self-imposed house arrest until the lingering sore throat and congestion disappear. The cat and the dog take extensive naps while I wait. And fret. My mind seems energized by this isolation. It won’t leave me alone. So I read books that have been waiting to be read for months. Years, even. My house is full of books. Some I’ve read but can’t bear to give away. Some I’ll never read. Others, I’ll sit with. Read. And...re read paragraphs that I’d thought my way through. How does my brain do that? Waste of fucking time. Sometimes I’ll actually read. Become one with the teller of the thing. Spring will come when I string together enough moments like these. Spring will come, whether I read or not. It will come...and, not a minute too soon.