the things i cannot do, i do not do.
the storms have made travel more difficult. have seen branches and their branches impede movement. have forced us indoors to indoor activities and cupasoups.
i like mine too hot to drink.
my path becomes a mangrove swamp i wade through in boots i hold on to with my toes.
incidentally, how delightful is the mallee root?
my parents used to burn them in the open fire-place of my childhood home. i knew that a new one added to the flames meant a later bed-time.
they take many hours to burn.
the storm will force me to stay indoors all day. i will pile things too high until i cannot reach the top of them without a chair, or a ladder, or a pair of shoulders on which to climb.
and when i can no longer pile, i will no longer climb.
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