and the days wash and blur into each other. The planners want to build more houses close to this bridge but the water roils and the subterranean infrastructure won’t allow it, their plans are blocked. Out on the roads the cars zip and press thicker than ever and there’s a hard-done-by mood hanging over the shop shufflers, pint sippers and clutch of pals I still see about the town. We’re all waiting for spring and the dry, waiting for something to come along, things to get better. And I fast and listen to Dele Sosimi, write my lines in the sage-green study and look for animal trails to follow out of the woods.