Ultima Thule, That’s Where.
It is May 2nd. The middle of Spring. Two days ago, where I am now, it was 27°C. This is the most sheltered side of my cabin:
This is the approach to my cabin:
I have no exact numbers for you, but I can tell you that wind speed is strong enough to make the road’s runoff flow directly uphill (at least in those sheltered little gulleys where the run-off hasn’t simply frozen into two-lane Hieronymous Bosch frescoes on the spot). There are pelicans on the lake in front of me; at least, there were a couple of hours ago, before the viz declined so precipitously (get it?) that I could no longer see more than two meters offshore. Perhaps by now they are only Pelsicles.
Riddle me this: Where am I?
More to the point, what am I doing here?
Well, I think we’re not in Kansas anymore, and Cedar Point would be too obvious, as would Greenland, since the title has the word “Thule” in it.
Beats me? Fargo, ND. It’s as cold as a wiccan’s boob in a brass brassiere up there until June sometimes. Possibly why it is devoid of wiccans.
It’s about 82 Fahrenheit where I am. Jus’ sayin’.
Wrangell mountains, Alaska?… working on your latest book?…
From timing of posts, someplace between Ontario and Nebraska on the south side of the Canada-US border. I vote North Dakota.
I hear Neil Gaiman goes off by himself and stays where cellphones do not ring and mail does not reach… to be, to focus, to think. But you did not stay at the cabin long. So I doubt that is why you were there.