The old part of the house is drafty and cold on long winter nights. And when it’s late, after everyone has gone to bed, you can hear the cold air whispering under the door jambs. You can witness the curtains rustling when the wind is high and then the furnace will kick on and rumble away deep in the basement, two powerful weather fronts meeting in my living room.
I look out into the street, seduced by the moonlight, so calm. I stand at the front window contemplating an empty street. I left my wool socks in the loft and already my feet are cold.
I was out again yesterday, clearing the snow once again from the driveway and sidewalk. Big Buddy across the street came home from shopping, (two six packs of Sprite) asking me how my New Year was.
“So far, so good”, I said. I then I wondered, did he mean New Years Eve?
He tells me about Little Buddy, living up on the Huron Coast. How worthless and lazy he is. We talk about the snow plow filling the end of our driveways. We talk about some other stuff, but I find I’m not interested or inclined in communicating. So I mostly stay silent, mostly just unintentionally waiting out the end of the conversation so I can get back to clearing the driveway.
I strive for a simple, uncomplicated life, striped down, basic, undecorated, like a Spotify play list - music to read by, music to study by, sleepy beats, atmospheric jazz, mellow calmness for total relaxation…that’s my speed. That’s my ambiance. Music you don’t have to listen to while doing things that don’t need to be done. Wispy auditory brush strokes like a painting of a prairie sky. The prairie is dotted with lumbering buffalo, slumbering in the high grass, fatalistically living, without much worry, thought or planning.