Restless
The western wind this morning was so strong that it sucked the air out of my lungs.
For the past few weeks, the city has been filled with crows. Homeward bound Friday evening, as I crested the rise under the 225 year old grandmother oak in Washburn Park, I was afforded a good view of the downtown skyline 8 blocks away. The skyline was shrowded in a stream of crows, flying in an arc that crested at the height of Foshay's Folly. Hundreds of crows. They looked more like a stream of large bats, not birds.
The weather, terribly mild, has added an element to the confusion. The crows understand. Or don't understand why it is that they find themselves far north of their normal winter grounds.
I am restless, like the crows and the wind. I can't sleep. The long stream of gray days, heavy wet clouds, and warm winds, tantelize me with an early promise of spring, however false it may be in mid-January. My hands are idle; my mind races.
Anybody know how to conduct "structural relocation" of a building? A neighbor in Clotho has an old building, which in a moment of brilliance Anna suggested that I purchase and move (instead of tearing down, as the neighbor intends). The building has some historic significance. It is a style quintesential of the country church, but lacking a spire. White clapboard surrounding a narrow, long structure with high gables and simple windows. It was the Rose City Free Church, the boyhood church of an Los Alamos Labs acquintance that Dancemonkey and I know who grew up on a farm just a few miles from ours. By my childhood, the church had been moved 10 miles down the road to Clotho, where it had been converted into a shop for repairing farm implements (and the occassional Fiat Spider). The mechanic has now "passed away," leaving the building abandoned. Maybe it would make a nice home for a tractor (and the carpentry tools I as of yet do not have).
For the past few weeks, the city has been filled with crows. Homeward bound Friday evening, as I crested the rise under the 225 year old grandmother oak in Washburn Park, I was afforded a good view of the downtown skyline 8 blocks away. The skyline was shrowded in a stream of crows, flying in an arc that crested at the height of Foshay's Folly. Hundreds of crows. They looked more like a stream of large bats, not birds.
The weather, terribly mild, has added an element to the confusion. The crows understand. Or don't understand why it is that they find themselves far north of their normal winter grounds.
I am restless, like the crows and the wind. I can't sleep. The long stream of gray days, heavy wet clouds, and warm winds, tantelize me with an early promise of spring, however false it may be in mid-January. My hands are idle; my mind races.
Anybody know how to conduct "structural relocation" of a building? A neighbor in Clotho has an old building, which in a moment of brilliance Anna suggested that I purchase and move (instead of tearing down, as the neighbor intends). The building has some historic significance. It is a style quintesential of the country church, but lacking a spire. White clapboard surrounding a narrow, long structure with high gables and simple windows. It was the Rose City Free Church, the boyhood church of an Los Alamos Labs acquintance that Dancemonkey and I know who grew up on a farm just a few miles from ours. By my childhood, the church had been moved 10 miles down the road to Clotho, where it had been converted into a shop for repairing farm implements (and the occassional Fiat Spider). The mechanic has now "passed away," leaving the building abandoned. Maybe it would make a nice home for a tractor (and the carpentry tools I as of yet do not have).