February 5, 2026

Another dusting of snow. 

Rehearsal somber last night. It is well when your own change of concentration affects nobody else. 

Frenzy of rewriting– which makes me blissfully happy. 

 February 4, 2026

When I checked my Schwab account, every single holding was in positive territory. God knows what causes such things. I thought maybe it was Trump’s death, but checking the news revealed no such mercy. 

Ajax came again for his repast at sundown. The Twilight Buccaneer. He’s very young. This was his first winter. His plumage hasn’t darkened, and he tried to land on the car, sliding down the hood with wings flapping wildly. 

Ajax

 February 2, 2026

The branch where Sweetboi perched is gone, but on the branch nearest to it that can support such weight I saw a young red-shouldered hawk. Against such an unforeseeable moment, I’d bought the proper food days ago, so I threw the offering out onto the snow. In a few moments Ajax the hawk stood on my driveway ripping apart the pork joint. He called from Sweetboi’s tree, and I answered as I did before. I was stupid with joy. As soon as things open, I’m out in the stores laying up hawk-supplies. Build your nest in my tree. Stare into my window. Scream from your branch when you are in need. 

Brigid the Blessed

 

February 1, 2026

Brigid the Blessed

Woke listening for the hum of the furnace that would testify that the power had not gone out. Held my breath for the flushing of the toilet that would testify that the pipes had not frozen. Watching what seemed like multiple thickness of snow fall from the air did not prepare me for the hard, compact, shallow snowfall revealed by morning. Patches of grass showed through. Places were swept bare by the wind. My red brick porch is clear of snow after the first day. 

Watched the film Sinners.  I tried to make it better than it was. I’m the ideal audience for things I don’t initially understand. Always the benefit of the doubt. 

What do I think about all day? It must be something, for I awoke in the first light and now tap at my computer in the last light of Saint Brigid’s Day. Something must carry one hour to the other. The odd thing is that I am happy.