Frosty full moon in the kitchen fire door window. Rough sleep last night and we have to fly this morning. Trudy says she's not lonely when we're not here. Matter and spirit, and atmosphere connecting everything. Thoreau tuned himself like an instrument, an instrument of weather. Observing by tracking the seasons, tracking himself. How long? he repeats in the little boxes of the kalendar. Well, we're off now, into the wild blue yonder.