Snow job

 Snow job 

April 9 and it was snowing in the Valley of Virginia. What hath God wrought - or failed to prevent us from working?*

     But the roads were clear, so I went to see Dr. Feight. Uncle Albert stayed home.

“No one can hate snow more than I do,” I was telling him (Dr. Feight). “Hmmm,” he said.” “Although,” I went on, “anyone can see there’s nothing good about it.

     “It is cold: Wouldn’t we rather be warm - at least, comfortable? It is wet: Don’t we prefer to be dry? - who wants to walk around damp? It looks, smells, and tastes of death. That is, it has no taste, no smell, and no color. It covers color and smell - and taste for that matter.

     “Take the simple matter of the ground. It covers the green of the grass, the red or brown or black of the earth. It covers the smells of the grass and the ground. You can’t taste the world around you if you cannot smell it,” I said.

I said: “I don’t know what the cause is, madness, creeping dementia, the medicines I’m taking, but I can’t concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds. I can’t follow an argument - even a football match - because it continues while I do not.” “Hmmm,” Dr. Feight said.

There was a long silence. Then, I asked Dr. Feight if he had ever read Adam Bede. “Why?” he asked.

“Do you want to think about changing any of your medications?” Dr. Feight asked me at the end of the hour.

     “Why?” I said.

04.10.18

_______________

 * “Wrought” is the archaic past tense of “to work.” See here.