(h)as a way

Not much, you? Still have this cold, although it may be waning. In fact, I’m sure of it. The duration is replacing the severity is all. Even so. Even so.

There’s talk of flu shots this year. DW managed a trip to the city today and mentioned the health food store was full of coughing and wheezing. Not to infer a God in the foxhole scenario, and not certain there’s much more to it than an observation, yet things portend in a tendency sometimes. One gets to frettin’.

Word is we’re in for a winter with all of the trappings, nothing like it in the last fifty years. I’m sayin’ up this way; don’t know about everywhere else, although no doubt there will be ramifications. Not from us, mind you, but that which comes before, and so innocent sounding in the diminutive.

We’ll be ready. We’ve got a good generator and enough power cords to keep the place warm and cold where need be, plus sufficiently lit, barring any one of those 90-foot firs don’t decide to come a-knockin’ of an evening. Even then, we’ve done about as much as we can there too, taking much of sail out of them and still call them trees instead of lumber in waiting.

The winter squash leaves are heavy with mildew even though newer parts of the vine still push new fruit.

Even so.

The urge to get away from it all turns into a temptation to hole up. Unless, of course, one had not come from somewhere else.  A nether-oddity. I say this, largely because of an overwhelming notion this morning that when farmers talk of the weather, it is a poetry of indictment, imagining the damage something with a mind can do.

And so there is a general unease that comes with crossed purposes. One’s enthusiasm does not necessarily ensure that another understands, let alone has expectations met. I believe they call it “Life Moves On,” and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve got a pretty good situation, regardless. That is, I might be better served to recognize the types of hunger in others.

We’re still getting tomatoes, but so is everyone else, so that’s not it. If my timing were impeccable, it would be, if such a thing more than serendipity eased the labor.

You see, it often comes at us obliquely.