Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The floof spoke.
The man regarded the animal. “You want to go back out? You sure?”
The floof replied.
The man stood and followed the animal. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”
The animal veered to the kitchen and headed for the sink.
“Oh, you want water.” He filled the animal’s glass.
Water. Outside. The two words sound so similar in flooflish. It’s easy to mix them up.
A small patch of blue sky threatens the fifty shades of gray above Ashlandia. Today is Wednesday, Feb 22, 2023. As Bill Withers sang, “Ain’t no sunshine.” There is daylight, coming to us since 6:57 this morning, illuminating the snow frozen across the ground. @ 33 F, the streets and walks are clear. The weather monitors note it feels like 33 F now, but we’ll punch 36 as a high before celestial mechanisms take our sunshine away at 5:52 PM.
For anyone tracking the stats at home, we’re into our final week of Feb, 2023. It’s the first final week of the second month of the year.
It’s warm in the house, thanks to all the connections which evolved through the centuries regarding gas and electricity, heat, walls, foundations, and roofs. Had the fireplace up last night. Thinking about fire prompted The Neurons to slot “Good Times Roll” by Jimmie Allen and Nelly from 2020 into the morning mental music stream. There’s a chorus line from the song about the good fire rolling. The song is an interesting sound, bit of country, bit of rock, a sound like something out of four decades past.
Stay pos. Make your midweek work for you. Give me so joe and I’ll get right on it. Here’s the music for your listening pleasure. Cheers
It was on.
Emitting a small chirp, the little orange beast used maximum thrust, hitting top speed as he raced up the Dining Room Straight.
Reaching the Sofa Right, he demonstrated masterful control, twisting and accelerating with some spin, tailfishing as he scabbled for traction on the short hardwood floor Table Straight, then punched left at the Plant Stand. Into the Living Room Complex he flashed, moving left-right-left-right. A short burst carried him on the brief but celebrated Coffee Table Straight to the Back Door Hairpin.
Precisely he executed a narrow spinback by the magazine basket. Then it was back through the gears along the TV Straight, handling the transition from carpet to hardwood floor without a pause. Hard braking and sliding, he made the ninety-degree corner onto the Master Bedroom Straight. Up through the Door Kink he sped, diving under the bed.
Back out the other side of the bed he roared, out the door and down the Linen Closet Straight. The Dining Room Entrance’s hard right was managed with little loss of control. A final sprint for the Foyer start/finish line followed.
He pitted on the Entrance Rug. It’d been a good run, maybe one of the best ever.
He sat and washed in victory.
7 AM. I open the blinds because I know sunrise was at 6:59.
No sun. Droves of fat flakes lash the window and veil the world. It’s 37 degrees F so it’s not sticking.
I meander through the house TCB. An hour later, I’m at the kitchen window. 37 F. Sunny as Florida.
Florida comes to mind because my wife spoke with her sister yesterday. Sis lives in Florida. She was in her pool. 80 F.
Back in Ashlandia, ten minutes later, it’s dark and gloomy. Low clouds hide the mountains.
It’s 37 F.
This is Tuesday, February 21, 2023. Winting rules Ashlandia. Weather sages tell us the high will be 42 degrees F later today, then we’ll drop into the twenties for the night. Snow is expected to fall after sunset at 5:51 PM.
10 AM. It’s a broken blue and white sky. No sunshine.
Papi, the ginger marvel, has been galloping around the house, wailing to be let outside, beating on windows to come back in. He is not a fan of winting weather.
I have “Jumper” (1997), Third Eye Blind, looping through the morning mental music stream. The cause mystifies me. The Neurons must have something in mind but they’re not telling me. Behind the song was a story of a high school committing suicide after being bullied about their sexual identity. The song was played for Republicans in 2015 at the convention to protest the GOP’s anti-LGBT positions.
Stay pos. Enjoy the weather as best as you can. It’s almost sunny here now. No, wait, clouds have skated in. It’s snowing. No, it stopped. Look, it’s sunny.
Here’s the tune. Where is my coffee?
Here comes the snow. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 