By the time I got to the top of the hill to head west into the very strong wind, my fingers had warmed again even if my cheeks had become numb. At least going a bit later (closer to 9) there was far less traffic. My red wool cape may not be all that aerodynamic, but I figure the wind resistance just adds to the aerobic workout. I couldn't figure out at first how I got Nick Cave's "Henry Lee" in my head, but then I recalled the lyrics,
and the wind did howl and the wind did moan...
although the groans came mostly from the bare tress rubbing against each other in the wind as if trying to stay warm. It seemed odd to have a murder ballad in my head when I was in such a good mood, but in the midst of life we are in death. I had already on my mind when I awoke that today's date is a very sad one; I was nearly all the way back down the hill when I saw the lifeless body of one of our local cats, soft peach and white. It must have been struck by a car. It was one of the cats Kipper stared at out the windows, crying. Poor little thing -- but it's a busy street and people just don't care.
Not every thing can be mended; destruction is a much a part of life as creation. But occasionally we can stave off the inevitabiliy of dissolution. I mended the broken gnome with some tacky glue (thanks, Susan). He's pictured here in pieces, along with my ever appropriate mug from the Museum of Funeral History in Houston. It sports the legend, "Any day above ground is a good one." Indeed.
After gluing him back together, I put him in the window to dry. Now he faces out to the porch like a child staring from the sick room, eager to rejoin his friends outside.