Tuesday, November 10, 2026, 28* F, 97% RH, 29.85 BP, 0657
SUN. No silver in the sky, no clouds, only blue. Heavy frost. Ice in the stream. Deck slippery. Breath visible. A spider string from lamp to railing. As I was closing the door, I heard a bird. Couldn’t identify. Atop my bread cookbook, a tiny spider crawling. Yesterday a doe found sustenance in the vicinity of the wood pile. Angels We Have Heard on High has been the only music on the stand for a week. I have memorized most of it. When I think about what I’m doing, when I look up, I can’t find my place. There are no lines, no notes, no words, just numbers. Perhaps I should keep my eyes on the music. There is always improvising. I’m not very good at making things up.
Sun brings a joyful change in being.
Photo: LJ Austin
