February 22, 2025

A hole left in my records, as it’s been too cold to use my studio. It’s too cold now, except I’m newly arisen and fresh and have a cup of coffee steaming at my elbow. Images in my head of dry snow falling perpetually from the north, almost horizontal, lit through the day by the various colors of the sky. Lovely. I shiver out to renew the bird feeders. The little downies don’t even bother to fly when I approach them. Working hard and unexpectedly on a rewrite of The Nurseryman’s Wedding. Most of its sins were the sins of excess, which is the easiest to cure.  I have been happy doing this, even when my eyes bleared. 

Second Blake meeting with P. 

National situation deteriorating. Vance blames Ukraine for invading Russia. I vow not to listen to the news, but fragments seep in. Antietam of the soul.