January 24, 2016

Liszt on Pandora. Very wintery.
   
For an hour before it went behind the hill, the blaze of the moon upon the snow.  We lost power a couple of times yesterday. It seemed gratuitous, as though someone down at the station wanted us to experience the full effect of the blizzard and so pulled the switch. Still not even the scratch of a bird upon the snow. I have done well two days mewed up. No cabin fever, though thank wine for part of that. Thank stations on the TV that I never explored before. Today I will get out, though, stretch my legs. They are calling the storm “Jonas.”
   
In dreams I was being patronized by Hugh Capet, who was not dead and had applied to have the throne of France returned to him. He had learned to use social media, and had chosen to praise me as a writer. His favorable comments were carved on a polished slab of wood in front of his palace. I went to Paris by night to steal it. It was very snowy, and I cut the slab away from its supports and brought it home on a sled.
   
Tried to order roses for my garden. Too absurd. Will wait at least until the ground is visible.