The Morn of Inspection

The ground is so wet, I need knee boots to walk the fields. And it is mild, warming through the night instead of chilling down. I'll take it. With the blue tarp fortifying the porous roof above me, most of the leaks have ceased their leaking. Even though there has yet to be a frost, the brush begins to open, allowing a glimpse of a pond unseen all summer, or a house that was heretofore been shrouded in green. It being a time for change, and this being the fulcrum, the balance point, it seems appropriate to be headed off to the new doctor today. I have no aches or pains. It is a well-care visit. Should I tell the doctor that I am as fat and full of cholesterol as I've ever been in my life, and feeling like a capon or just let him figure things out for himself? Wait until the blood work returns. I've eaten more of the bad things, like shrimp or bacon and eggs this year than in the previous three or five. And I stopped running early last month, for whatever reason. My ankles were so stiff afterwards that I was limping around. At least that precipitated the interruption. The doctor's going to do his procto thing and ask a lot of personal questions. I hope he is as good as the recommendation from Mary that put me into his hands. The rain ought to cease and I can go outside to see what yesterday and last night's winds and rain hath wrought at Stonepile. The ocean swells parade up the river, equidistant arcs of liquid energy. On the far side, they smash onto the rocks in explosions of white spray that rips along the cliffs. This violence is impotent from up above and at a distance. It would be another story altogether were I to be among the waves themselves. Here I am, inspecting.