March 31st, 2016

The Red Tree

Howard Hughes Beneath a Bloodthirsty Sky

I have a trigger. It's the sky. I have a "safe space." It's my house, especially any place where I can't see a window.

The trees here have had buds since late February, early March. But spring in Rhode Island unfolds in agonizing slow motion. The sprouting of a leaf may take six weeks, instead of a few days. Everything is stark. Everything is barren. The days are still cold, and the nights are colder. At the moment, the wind is roaring over Providence at 30mph, gusts to 60mph. The temperature is straining to reach today's high of 67˚F, before the weekend plunges us back into subfreezing nights. There's a chance of snow on Monday.

I was proud of myself for weathering this past winter so much better. But I do not know if I can survive my eighth Cold Spring.

It has been seventeen days since I've left the house.


Yesterday was a lost day. All anger and depression, the worst day I've had in some time.


Last night, we began reading Victor LaValle's The Ballad of Black Tom, and it's really very excellent.

Aunt Beast