Currently, the temperature is 23˚F and overcast. Yesterday, it rose to 40˚F, our warmest day in, well, it seems like forever. And the snow began coming off the roofs, many hundreds of pounds of snow and, worse, ice. Calving, like glaciers. While we were reading last night, a large sheet on the northwest corner of the cabin finally broke free and slid off the stone shingles, crashing the paving stones below. The cabin shuddered. Kathryn and I both thought the roof was coming down around our heads. There was a second or two of terror. It was sort of awesome.
We also had a little water come in downstairs. Nothing much, easily mopped up, but we fear its a small taste of what's going to happen next week when the snow really begins to melt. We are at the ready with mops and buckets.
I'm not writing. I've written nothing since finishing Part One of "The Aubergine Alphabet."
For a while, yesterday, the buttermilk sky changed. For a while, an eerily spring-like sky hung over the mountain, the billowing clouds of a thunderstorm, as opposed to the steely smear of snow clouds. Eerie or not, it was a welcome sight.
Tomorrow we'll be driving home, then driving back tomorrow night.
A couple more for breakfast,
A little more for tea.
Just to take the edge off.
Just to take the edge off. ~ Radiohead
An announcement I ought to have made before now: On March 18th, I will be reading (along with Lisa Mannetti) at KGB Bar in Manhattan (85 East 4th Street, just off 2nd Ave, upstairs). The reading starts at 7 p.m. I'll be reading from "Interstate Love Song (Murder Ballad No. 8)." The reading is free. A bookseller will have copies of The Drowning Girl, The Red Tree, and Blood Oranges (they kindly asked my permission before including any Kathleen Tierney books, and I said that one, only). But I will also sign any books you bring with you.
It seems I had more to say, more I wanted to put in this entry, but now I can't recall what. I've got to start making notes.