I was up late last night, listening to some music on my mp3 player and feeding the fire. It was chilly by comparison, and when I checked the water barrel I have outside, it had a centimeter of ice on the top. The tap for it no longer works, but I can scoop water from the top so that is not worrying. Because I was up so late, and then awake for an hour or so around dawn, I slept until eleven. I find I am wondering if I should get up when I wake in the morning and then I remember there is no pressure on my time here and I can sleep as long as I please. In fact, I should use this opportunity to get as much sleep as possible, before I am back to the busy school schedule of the winter.
I let the fire almost completely die this morning but to my relief the cabin didn’t drop below twelve degrees or so. I guess that the thermal mass
of the stove, the wooden walls and the over three hundred books, means this small space holds the heat well.
I am knee deep in a read through of Flat Earth, which is going quite well. It is a better book than I remember and has some great characterization. So many characters as well; I’m surprised that I kept track of all of them.
It is now dark out, at six thirty, and I have heard about the Russian currency collapse on the news. It is sickening that Harper was chortling about the losses of the Russians as if they have had it easy over the last few economic collapses.
Also there has been a school shooting in Pakistan, which makes me wonder about my Pakistani students and whether they knew anyone who was killed amongst the one hundred and forty children.
Here I am far away from the world’s problems. Instead, I check on the creek to see how much it has fallen in the night. Today I brought the pallet which I had used to cross when I first arrived, and otherwise read and relaxed through the day.
There are many people out there, I am sure, running from place to place with no more reason to their actions than an ant (less so, for an ant works for the hill), who would willingly come here for their holidays. They would love to park their car they can barely afford the fuel for, drop off the presents they hurriedly and thoughtlessly bought, and bring instead some food on their back, and pick up some wood on the way, while they come up the hill to join me in my solitude.
I heard a jet overhead today, so I know the world beyond the radio is still functional, or dysfunctional, but other than that, and the odd chickadee, I am alone with my books and my thoughts.
