Thin Storm.

We had a little noontime storm roll through, a line that gave them good rain back west and good rain again down east, but as for us and our kind here in 27408, enough rain to wet the driveway and not much else. The sun's trying to push back through the clouds now, and we've got some breeze, and there's a coolness to the air that makes it seem like that cold snap they're trying to give us for tomorrow and Monday and Tuesday is in fact dragging west to east and will yes soon enough hand us a little bit of March once more.

Feels like I'm having a little cold front of my own. The inside of my head feels clouded pretty well over. We're making chili this afternoon for a party to be held out near 27244, partly in my honor, the kind of thing that makes me feel like hiding under a trash can lid. But still: There's a fairly lovely kind of eucharist to be had in chopping onions, cooking them until they're translucent. And it's my grandfather's simple recipe — one big onion, one can of tomatoes, one can of beans. That's your base. Build from there. Wooden spoon. Even when other things are not so, so good, having a wooden spoon to cook with is good.

Robins have built a nest between the downspout and the screened corner of the cat porch. The male hangs out on the peak of the writing shed, watching. She's on the nest. We think they've laid eggs. The cats are deeply, deeply compelled by this. So is AMR. So am I. Surely the world does not require another robin. Nonetheless, we're trying to move carefully. Hell of a place to build a nest.