January 10, 2025

Our much-heralded winter storm was a fizzle– maybe an inch on the ground, melting as it gathers. The brunt seems to have passed to the south, enabling news reels of students at Clemson gamboling in the snow. The sound on my study window now is much like rain. Disastrous fires continue in Los Angeles. One commentator said an area the size of San Francisco is charred. An aspect their fire has that our hurricane did not is the celebrity apocalypse. Anthony Hopkins’ home went up in flames but did not float down the French Broad. 

Sweetboi is gone. He’s like a grown son who comes back on holidays, has a few square meals, and then is off on his adventures. 

One neighnorhood lady walks her bulldog on my side of the street instead of on the sidewalk. I thought this curious, until, watching today, I saw her let her dog shit on my lawn, where it wouldn’t show and she wouldn’t have to clean it up. Mystery explained.