Rambling Without Bounds

It was much too warm for a jacket tonight – I was bathed in alternating currents of warm and cool breezes, the comfort of a spring evening.  The sky remained covered with high, hazy clouds, and they magnified the light of the nearly-full moon, which turned the landscape into a dim version of its daily face.  Neighbors arrived at home or left for work or points unknown.  Max was incredibly distracted the entire length of our walk, searching after something beyond the bounds of my perception.  The peeper choruses returned, but the kick of a stray stone set them all to immediate silence, wary until we passed by.  My own thoughts wandered, too, in a circle, back round to the necessity of being gentle with myself even when the rest of the world does not.

For my non-Facebook-using friends and compatriots - recent status scribbles:

Night impressions: cool east wind continues to blow; frog's chirps are long and slow; Max stops and scans the field, the silence, the dim emptiness beyond; cold Kentucky rain stings my eyes and lips and makes Max pull harder to home; a single jet descending west visible in the high, thin clouds.

A chilly night's walk: neighbor's voices as we walk out the door; a stiff northeastern breeze; a too-thin jacket makes goosebumps, numb fingers, and faster steps; dim shadows under a half-moon; startled bird flutters from a tree; deafening echelons of pond-side peepers; high thin clouds edging from the west; letting the oblivous traffic pass by; the welcome road home.

The night filtered through my foggy mind: half moon's light reflected off a distant barn's roof; each step a crunch and pop on a gravel road; three boisterous teenagers walking home; frogs chirping to some secret rhythm; security lights flickering at the propane storage facility; a rabbit bounds behind the house.

As midnight approaches: cold air numbs my fingers through wool gloves; first clear evening in days, with the silver crook of the moon beginning to dip low in the west; a medical helicopter rushes across the sky; the house is still without Max tonight.

walk this evening: cheeks pelted with sharp sleet and snow; wind chimes clanging in the blustery western breeze; a quick peek at the thumbnail moon hiding behind rushing clouds; Max with his haircut axious to get back home. A thought: even as people are snug and warm in their homes, the cold winds still blows.

Tonight in Preston: mild breezes send an empty pop can skittering down the road; the briefest glimpse of a sliver of moon through thin, billowy clouds; the lights of Mt. Sterling reflected off the clouds in the west; wet wool socks from stumbling through a puddle in the dark; every pond encircled with singing peepers.

The night: choruses of peepers, and the rain smells fresh, like spring.

Night in Preston: stiff breeze from the east, clouds moving in from the south; more peepers chirping; a cacophony of coyote howls and yips from behind the house; a chainsaw running from toward Blevins Valley; steady traffic.

Tonight in Preston: a few cars; a blustery north wind; and I counted two lone peepers braving the cold while their siblings burrowed back down in the mud.

Impressions of the night: choruses of peepers; the temperature is dropping, making the wind and rain raw; the house is popping and cracking with the change in temperature; the smell of wet dog next to me.
 

Spring is slow in coming. This is not to say that winter is lingering longer than it should; the last two times it snowed, it melted quickly. All of the usual signs of spring are also here: peepers and robins, gnats and flies, tulips pushing through the ground and trees budding. The only thing slow to change is the temperature. By mid-March in Kentucky we usually have somewhat milder temperatures, at least in my memory. We’ve have a couple of days where the temperature has gotten above 60 degrees, but for the most part it has stayed in the upper 40s. There’s also been a lot of rain for March, in a couple of instances leading to local flooding. It had made it hard to get outdoors much, apart from wearing hip waders. 

If anything was going on with my kidney stone, I would have let you know. I did have to make another trip to the ER last Thursday to get some relief from an attack of pain. They give me an injection of a strong muscle relaxant that they usually give to post-surgery patients, and the colic clears up in a few minutes. I found out that I have kidney stones created by too much uric acid in my body, and that it can be treated with some medicine and changes in my diet (essentially, drink mostly water and eat more fruit and vegetables and less meat); I’ve lost 12 pounds so far. Apart from that, I have to wait another week to see my doctor; he’s been on vacation for almost three weeks. 

It has become fairly obvious to me that there is a trade-off between keeping up with Facebook and maintaining a blog. I’ve tried to straddle the divide, but this blog has suffered. It seems more convenient to update the status feed at Facebook than to take the time to write a cogent blog entry. However, I’ve decided to the tip the balance back in favor of this blog. Writing for me is not about convenience; it is about slowing down and taking my time to write something worth saying. I don’t think my outward life is exciting or interesting enough to share with others. Most recently, I’ve been practicing a haiku-like writing after my late walk with Max, gathering scattered impressions of the night and letting them take shape in a status update. I’ll keep doing that, but I’m going to cross-post it from this blog. I needn't give everything to Facebook.