The sky is grey. It's 37˚F, but only feels like 33˚F. Snow is forecast for Thursday, but I deny it. It will not be. I intend never again to see fresh snow in Rhode Island.
Yesterday, I hung myself up on a paragraph and wrote only 120 words on "The Living and Their Stillborn."
I almost forgot the stale Hell of yesterday. That would never do:
Yes, I was sitting in the road.
When I began the stale Hell photos on February 11th, I resolved that there would be a photo a day until the temperature here broke 70˚F. But, the way things are going, I doubt we'll see that sort of warmth until, if we're lucky, late April. That's a sickening thought.
Last night, we finished Season 5 of Nurse Jackie and watched more of the brilliant House of Cards. I read "The first enantiornithine bird from the Upper Cretaceous of China." One day, some day, I might read a novel again. I mean, one I've not read before. For now, I'm happy with biographies and scientific journals and second, third, and fourth readings of the Tried & True.
For now, that'll do.