March 8, 2024

Rain. Aborted chores here and there in the city. 

My legs work very badly. It’s not the joints, no particular distress in knee or hip or ankle. 

Mind spinning its wheels like a truck  in the mud. 

First task of the gardening year will be ding something about the godforsaken bamboo. 

Getting familiar with the apartments next door from having to re-deliver their mis-delivered mail. 

Playing “Rejoice O Bethany” compulsively.