The fenceposts have friends, other fenceposts.
Currently I'm feeling lonely. Except my dog Underbrush is here with me. I was looking at her and she was staring back at me. I was thinking about the thoughts she was thinking, just as I'd guess she was thinking about the thoughts I was thinking.
I was thinking any number of things about the dog. One, how present she is. It's a rare thing for her to be off in another part of the house. But it does happen. I also think about how vigilant she is, like when someone knocks at the door. Someone knocked at the door a bit ago with a question, but now he's gone, out in the cold somewhere. Probably in a heated room actually. The dog barked when he came, then quit when he left.
Any human contact would be good at this point. Not thieves or beggars though.
I've got a podcast going and a couple of guys are talking. They were recorded the other day sometime. They're winging it, it appears. If I were on a podcast I'd want to have it all sketched out, the definite things I was going to say, then I'd try to say them as casually and (apparently) spontaneously as possible.
When you're talking to somehow, it always pays to sound casual and spontaneous. Like when you're asking questions or commiserating. It's something I do, I can't help it. The guy at the door, I asked him casually and spontaneously how he avoids getting pneumonia. And he said, "Prayer, lots of prayer." I wonder, is that really it? He's out there working in the snow and he's praying that he won't get pneumonia.
It was nice to talk to him, even with Underbrush barking in the background, and even though it was a few seconds only. But I don't know, I don't think the conversation could've gone much farther, even if that's what he was there for.
We have an old expression in my part of the world. Like when something's confidential, we do say, "Between me and you and the fencepost." They have their own friends. They're dug in the ground and they stand there holding a fence forever.