The calendar may say fall is long since gone.  All the same this feels like the first day of winter. Snow, real snow, not the small occasional dustings of the past two months, is covering up the field, the road, the porch.  Our road here in Bethel is not exactly impassable but I brought home a new used car yesterday and I was reluctant to slip and slide down the driveway without studded snow tires so I stayed in.

House bound I became very very lazy. Stupification set in about 2:30 or so.  I had spent the morning with Edward Hirsch's fine book, How to Read a Poem.  A book I could not keep from rebelling against in the previous post.  I am not reading Mr Hirsch for instruction and do not believe one could be instructed in such a thing anymore than a cat could be taught to purr.  I am reading the book expand my bookshelf.  I am also reading the book to find out more about the man who wrote it. Autobiography via poetic interest. Good as anything I can think of.

These things on a normal day would not bring about stupification but the white of winter has created in me a state as near to hibernation I can probably get without actually becoming a bear. How strange this. On a normal day there are any number of projects here at the house I could easily be involved in for seriously productive hours. Sitting here in front of the computer I feel I have managed to pull myself from a deep relentless mire.  A white swirling mire.  I'll try a walk before the sun goes down.  Maybe the fresh air?