T.

(Trying desperately not to write about the weather
or what I had for dinner. When cavemen-and-women
blogged (on their cave walls) did they draw
pictures of mastadons roasting on a spit?)

Looked at a house high up the slope above Leschi
today, on a dead end, on a 9,000 sq.ft. lot.
Very cabin'o'the'San'Juans, musty, drafty,
lots of (leaky) windows, greying cedar shingles,
charming as a ($$$$) vacation home, probably.
It didn't feel substantial enough for everyday
living, if that makes sense. Something
was atilt, perhaps the foundation. I mean,
I kept looking over my shoulder for the goats
and chickens. The ox, even. (Not that I have
anything against goats, chickens and oxen.)
It's just that it felt lonely and remote: Road's End.
And a goat, a few chickens and an ox or two
would've cozied it up a bit.
If I lived there I would name it The Hermitage.