So I’m up at the cabin

working on my new book. Which is not so new anymore, except in that it’s my latest effort at timeless prose of unquestioning brilliance.

Which means you get a blog post. Because, to paraphrase Anne Lamont, you never know until you sit down to write just how badly your eyebrows need plucking. Writing a blog when I’m supposed to be working on my book is my version of plucking my eyebrows.

It’s hot up here today, the sort of bright, clear hot that makes your eyes ache and your skin feel dry the moment you step outside. I don't like to think about how hot it must be in town, without the cool breeze and the green of the trees that shade me up here on this mountain.

I mention this because another version of plucking my eyebrows is going outside and wandering around. Which led me to discover this –

I should’ve checked earlier. Just after dawn I heard a hummingbird buzzing around the porch, and made a mental note to check the feeder I’d filled last weekend. And promptly filed that note away in the place from which no mental notes ever return.

Now the special care with which Chance marked the perimeter of the cabin when we arrived yesterday makes more sense. I’m used to him giving his urinary “screw you” to the coyotes each time we come up. This time he was extra thorough, ranging farther out around the cabin than usual.

Coyotes, you see, could care less about sweet things. Bears, on the other hand…

Ladybug likes sweet things too. We've been keeping her going with maple flavored breakfast sausages dipped in agave, chicken strips sautéed with honey and soy sauce. She's not going to be around much longer so she gets anything that will tempt her flagging appetite.

Chance is more like a coyote. He's a meat eater, a place marker, the master of his domain. At least as long as there's nobody else more alpha around.

It's a guy thing, I guess. (Pause for chuckles of disbelief and nasty comments from my guy friends.)

My blog posts (usually) may wind around a bit, but they eventually get back to the point. Even if I'm not sure what the point is when I first start writing.

But apparently not this time. Apparently my mind is quite content to wander, ranging far afield. My mind is not bothered by how hot it is outside. My mind just wants to shelter inside this blog, brilliantly avoiding working on my timeless masterpiece of great and unending significance.

Or perhaps I’m not meant to work constantly while I’m up here, even with the total lack of town and house distractions. Maybe I should pay more attention to one of my favorite things about this cabin.

No matter how often we straighten it, it always looks like this when we return. Maybe it’s this mountain’s way of teaching me to be more Zen. Maybe I should stop beating myself up and see if the writing flows more easily.

Or maybe I'll just go pluck my eyebrows.the sort of bright, clear