the soaking of the year
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
Toronto, 2019.05.02
I can't recall having gotten so wet at such a low temperature as cycling into the wind of last night's rainstorm at 5°. This morning my gloves were still damp (and stinking) so I went without. By the time I got to the office my hands were red and stinging. And so it goes in this new normal climate, where spring is but an echo of winter.
In happier news, The Boy got a major school project done in fine shape and on time. And The Girl is now seven years old and the proud new owner of a pogo stick. Of which I have but this to say: