Tarmac Meditations #138: Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Note to self: do not use the arm load of wood that you are carrying into the house at 4 am to protect your face when you fall into the boardwalk going into the house – no real harm, some manly blood – and some scrapes, the mirror says I lost the fight, hmmmm …

The day ended better than it began. Age is not kind to my illusions about aging but the truth will come out. This one shook me up pretty good. Just sayin’. Doin okay though, friends checked in and made it easier: Bucklin Moon moved the wood inside; Good man that one. Early childhood training in the snows of Vermont. Told me he loved to chop wood and stack it. He said a stacked cord looked like a job well done. Roger that, Buck. Thank you.

Long night last night not much sleep to be found. A demon’s festival, inside my bruised head. Got out of bed and went out to get some wood – made it back inside, one demon down… grabbed my camera and went out to look over the valley bathed as it was in crystal cold pre-dawn light. Got the shot. Tough 24 – hell make that tough run from May to here. Broke down a little: “He will not see me standing here to watch the valley filled with snow. I have promises to keep”, said I to no one in particular. With Apologies to Mr. Frost. And Godspeed, Mr. Mandela.

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