Caveat: Poem #933

My mood plunged in the wake of events:
A machine refuses to work.
I’m not so mechanical…
At least, not as I’d like.
So a gloom descends:
A rain on snow –
Insistent –

Caveat: W(h)ither the blogs?

I had a horrible panic today. My blog(s) disappeared. My whole server disappeared. I couldn’t even access the “back end” via SSH, nor could I reboot it on the hosting website.


I’ve been lazy, the past few months. I had no current backup files. The most recent backup was what I had made before leaving on the huge road trip, in November. That would be 4 months of blogging disappeared, if the server was trashed.

I opened a help ticket with the hosting provider.

After several hours, it turned out to be a problem at the provider. The host machine, where my virtual server lives, had some technical issue, I guess. Maybe a guy tripped on an extension cord. Who knows.

Anyway, nothing was lost. But it was a stressful panic.

I have subsequently created up-to-date backups for both blogs, and some other data on my server. I also decided to invest in a $5 / month backup plan. Who knows, maybe my server host arranged this crash to drive business to the backup plan business? *Shrug*

Such is life.

Caveat: Heat the outdoors

This morning, the water in the house wasn’t flowing.

Some pipe had frozen, somewhere. Not completely beyond reason – the low last night was 13°F (-10°C). At first Arthur thought maybe it was at the point where the water pipe entered the house – so he had this giant portable kerosene heater running outside, there. But then we concluded it was in the water-tank and pump house, up by the driveway. So we heated the great outdoors up there for a few hours.


Sure enough, around noon we got the water flowing again.

Caveat: Poem #931

The moon approached dispassionately,
with not a glance to either side.
A hoary cloud floated by,
blurring her pocked, pale face.
The earth ignored her,
with winter
and ice.

Caveat: Poem #930

Is it possible to write poems
about the sprawling internet?
All the seething, grasping text
that underlies a world –
an engineered mind –
a clockwork brain:

Caveat: Poem #929

The atmosphere tastes like frozen grapes
and snow conceals the doubtful path.
I step forward, then sideways.
A bird rushes by me.
The hill hides the sun
but the sky’s blue.
A branch snaps.

Caveat: Poem #928

Yesterday it snowed from dawn to dusk.
So I stayed in for the morning.
I thought the firewood could wait.
Fat flakes fell on windows.
Still, I took a walk.
The road was white.
I left tracks,
Saw trees,

Caveat: Poem #927

Bits of shredded trees all embedded
in slopes of frozen mud and snow
testify to the assaults
committed by machines
impelled by profits
hungry for wood

Caveat: Prometheus

I have been trying to replenish the firewood supply. The chainsaw unchained itself. I dubbed it ‘Prometheus’.


The whole thing should have terrified me. Yes. I have always understood chainsaws throwing chains to be very dangerous. It happened to me once before – when I was here cutting trees and brush in 1998.

Now that I’m living Arthur’s lifestyle, I find I appreciate one of his chief mottos: “I’d rather be lucky than smart, any day.” Prometheus, indeed.

Here are some other recent pictures I’ve taken.





Caveat: Poem #926

The eagle circled round and landed
in a hemlock by the river.
Yellow beak and white head spun.
A branch shuddered and swayed.
So the raven swooped,
changing her spot
from a rock
to a