Much rain, a little sleet, a little freezing rain, a little snow and some kind of bone chilling breeze that turns the nose red and dribbling. Nothing too terribly unfamiliar but a horrible reminder of why it is our species should never have left the tropics. Me, I've no intention of of even attempting to do anything useful outside until at least March of next year. Which does mean the possibility of a physical atrophy that could well interfere with this aging gardener's capacities to maintain a relationship with his shovel so he can turn beds, broadcast compost and all those increasingly unpleasant physical activities necessary for a successful growing season.
Last couple of winters, to keep atrophy at bay, after the daily now cast I've
engaged in almost ten generous minutes of interpretive dance on the front porch
almost every morning, it's the north side of the domicile, has splendid views of
leafless vine drenched trees, ghostly in the morning light and there's
absolutely no shortage of fresh air out there. So much so in fact that when
engrossed a dancer soon forgets the possibility of distant neighbors with high
power binoculars having a little chuckle and marking me down for deportation.
This year the primary motivation while bending the mind to the morning
entertainment will engage the errors of ancestors, the Komodo Lizard and Parrot
Fish, all of them creatures of the equatorial regions.