Friday, March 11

I have finished writing for the day, and got (almost) where I wanted to get. Irma has gone out and I have decided to clear some of the drive, which contains a variety of deep puddles, melting snow, and unfrozen ice.

I spend half an hour sweeping the puddles over the ice and into the road. The puddles fill up again but not as fast as I sweep them clean. They slowly get shallower. In the course of this some of the melting snow gets brushed away too. In a fit of exercise I decide to recreate the paths in the garden to the technical room and the compost.

As I finish this I hear the sound of the ice cream van arriving for the first time this year. I find myself stuck between seasons. I finish my winter work as the ice cream man starts his summer job.

He fails to sell anything today but I wave to him as he leaves in search of warmer roads.