We get a warm blast of weather. Great. The longer the beginning of winter weather we wait, the shorter the winter will be. Already, I’m sick of it and it hasn’t even started yet. My countdown till March 1 is 114 days. Too weeks plus 100 days.
That’s one way to think of if.
But waiting is something I’m good at. My hobbies are portable so I can do them wherever I want. It’s not like I need an easel and good lighting. I don’t need a good set of knives or any special clothing like a chef or a beekeeper. I don’t need a lake and a boat, a team and a uniform, a kitchen, a car, a place to wait, sit, enter, be.
I can get by with a notebook and a decent Japanese pencil.
And my nomadic nature always takes me away, takes me out with my cameras, or out to the paddock to feed the livestock, or north, west or south to boondock on a Great Lake. I like to walk. I have my Australian boots and my headwear. Travel light, but travel. The movement is the action, the driving force, a peripatetic existence, like a shark, I have to keep moving.
I put the kettle on and then leave to edit my queen’s park video. The water boils away and then the old pot begins to burn.
I never did like that pot. It was from a Chinese market. Thin metal. The handle was in the way of the lid. I had just reattached the handle by squeezing the rivet with a pair of heavy pliers.
But I could have burnt the place down. It’s not the first time I’ve left the kettle on. So forgetful about this one simple detail for making a cup of tea.