Today has been productive. Errands run, a short story proofed, and the afternoon settling into a groove. When will I learn that trying to take days off makes me cranky and slightly depressed? I just don’t feel right unless I work. It may be a coping mechanism, but at least it’s a coping mechanism that benefits me and doesn’t suck.
The rain is coming through in sweeps today, and in between each brisk broom-flick of straight up-and-down falling water is a mini-sunbreak. It’s spring weather, and it washes every newly-sprung leaf and every azalea flower over and over. It’s the sort of day where the rain cleans the air too, and everything is crystalline when the sun breaks out. The entire world smells of green and growing.
Me? I’m inside listening to Joshua Bell playing Kreisler over and over. There’s a candle burning softly and the whole house is quiet except for the violin’s singing. Every window is full of the softstorm light of spring, and words are itching under my skin.
It’s good to be here. I hope your day is just as serene, dear Reader.