Winter in the writing shack involves firing the woodstove in the mornings, which heats up the flying things apparently nesting in the walls. Then I get winged ouchy bugs zooming around the office, which offers a nice diversion from working on things to take a break and clear the area with a rolled up magazine. Any tendencies toward Buddhist practice goes away when there's a wasp in my air space.
The backdrop there is a sulu from Fiji, hanging over my window. It took some googling around and asking my friend Sara to even remember the word 'sulu,' which is a clear sign I need to stop wintering in a climate that requires a woodstove, which heats up the bees.
Get thee back to the tropics, Rombach.
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