Fog

Bare ground again. I haven't been able to ski in weeks, but the roads remain wretched so I can't bicycle. Trails too muddy for a hike. Picture, if you will, a Portrait of the Author as a Caged Beast....

Actually, I'm being kind by saying that the ground is bare. In reality, it is covered by the revealed garbage and dogshit that our scant snow had decently buried. Humans are slobs.

But we still have chickadees.

Meanwhile, back at the manuscript....

Latest dispatch from the hyphen wars

I am afraid that "down east" does not carry the same flavor and flow as "down-east." And the latter usage does, indeed, reside in my dictionary.

That is all. Move along.

Ahhh...

Got out for about an hour of walk on the tattered remnants of our so-called sidewalks. Had to dodge puddles and banks of slush left over from plowing, and the sodden heaps of dogshit, but the day has been redeemed.

And I picked up a quarter somebody dropped. So, no matter what else follows, the day won't be a dead loss.