Cold Water Comfort - morning writing

I'm alive! That's what I felt as the first bucket of cold water went over my head. A hawk is calling, and before that, when I came back in from the terrace, the songbird, something like a robin or a nightingale, sang outside the back window. The first light of morning is here and I am at home, writing, with a cup of mint tea waiting at my side and I am not on the bus going to KGS.

No job, no income, no long-term security. It doesn't seem to matter right now. I am full of a Henry Miller feeling, driving over to build that lousy wall and stopping to eat triffle in the Quarry Shop.

Another sip of tea. I still have no idea what I should be doing, where I should be looking for the next employment.

It's cloudy again this morning and there is a slight feeling of rain in the air. Down on the street a car is waiting, its engine running, but the main road is not altogether busy yet.