Post #128 in a series of unnumbered posts

I stepped in a small patch of mud today, first time in five months. I wiped off my shoe in soft snow. Sun brought color to my pale cheeks. I cut the corner by walking through the gas station's lot, shaved off a minute, slushing. Heard (in song) that some species of birds had returned from Africa or wherever they spend their winters. I usually don't know what time it is, don't wear a watch anymore, have thrown out calendar after calendar. I prefer a flock of those birds to land in the yard: Time to start over. Somewhere insects are swarming around a huge hive, preparing to infect and reproduce. Seasons never sneak up on me; I document their deconstruction.