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I have a headache that could pull a bus.

There is still a little snowbank across the street.

I did not have to rise before dawn yesterday to make a fire, for the first time this year.

I still rose before dawn.

There is a dead skunk in the middle of the road, stinkin’ to high heaven.

My wife and I are sad for the dead skunk, for he was jolly and waddled through the yard and gave no offense.

A window is open for the first time this year.

Logs.

There is a battered and rusted farm-ish ventilator installed at the crown of my roof, and it shrieks as it spins when the wind blows hard, but sounds like a calliope sometimes.

I can’t get at the ventilator with any ladders and staging I possess.

If my neighbors didn’t like me, they’d kill me over the ventilator.

Momo the cat sat on one mole while he killed another in Lloyd’s yard.

There is a 175 foot drainage pipe that goes under the street out front and travels beneath a good portion of my yard, then ends in the rear of my house in the rock garden, and the neighborhood cats, including mine, use it for a subway.

Logs.

There is a hardwood tree some call a linden outside my window; it grows like a weed and looks sturdy enough, but you can cut a branch off it the thickness of your wrist using only a nippers.

A neighbor lady lectured me about various species of wood the other day in a neighborly way, and I found it amusing and pleasant.

If she had known what she was talking about it wouldn’t have been nearly as pleasant.

Logs.