It rained, but I missed it, and no more rain is predicted. The day is cloudy and cold, 51° cold. The leaves are being buffeted by a constant wind. It is a day to stay close to heath and home.

Yesterday I finished the move from here to there and back again. The chore went like this. I moved the photo albums, but I looked through them first. Two were my family, but the rest I had bought. My favorite album chronicles a trip through Italy in the late 1930’s with pictures, postcards and commentary. I wondered why families would give up such a treasure. Perhaps, I thought, the people in the photos passed away, and the albums had no emotional value to the rest of the family. Anyway, it took a while to figure out where to put the albums. Finally, I was left with an empty spot. Next, I removed almost everything from the kitchen shelf. The books, now dusted, went on the spot formerly held by the albums. Everything else from the shelf went on the counter. I cleaned the shelf then found the dishes stored in the Peterborough basket and moved them to the empty shelf. Finally, I washed the stuff originally from the shelf then found places to put them. Chore ended. I was hot and sweaty but triumphant.

This is the rainy season in Bolga. The fields are green. Millet is growing high. The dust has disappeared, but the bugs have reappeared. The light in my living room, a simple bulb, hung from the ceiling. I made a lamp shade for it out of a Bolga basket. Below the basket was a circle of light, the circumference of the basket. Every night the circle was black, filled in by the dead bugs attracted to the light.

Today I declare a sloth day. My larder is filled. The groceries were delivered yesterday. My fridge is overflowing. I have all my favorites. I’ve almost finished my book but have more waiting in the wings. I’ll stay in my cozies. Today is a good day.