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An evening snow turned quickly into a heavy rain, warm enough to make whatever lay on the ground dense and heavy, but not enough to wash it away.

My front driver-side tire has a slow leak. Two months ago, it was the passenger-side. I had been hoping to get it fixed, but changed my mind watching a neighbor's car skid and slide along the road before he turned around and went home.

Normally, I cram my spare time with books and diversions. After shoveling the driveway, I now have a rare moment when I'm not sure how to proceed. A mouse knocked an empty carafe out of our downstairs food cabinet. That must be cleaned. I was in the habit of drinking good tea before the pandemic, using ceramic vessels and quality leaf imported from places like Yunnan and Fujian. My tea tools gather dust, but I look at them now and then. They don't seem angry to me -- angry at going unused. They seem to evoke patience. Tea of this sort is best enjoyed with conversation.

Still maybe I'll grab a kettle and a tea knife, and enjoy a few cups while the rain falls heavy on the packed snow, and wait for a time to drive to the city and get my nail pulled, or whatever might be troubling my tire.

 

 


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