This morning: Slavonic dances on the radio, Canadian geese rising from the high school’s football field in a cloud of feathers and honking audible even over Brahms and Dvorak, the evidence of yesterday’s wind and rain everywhere. Huge downed branches in the back yard along with puddles the dogs can’t leave alone. A mostly-sleepless night tinges these things with an odd hypercolor.
I think the insomnia is a function of the cold I’m still fighting off as well as the creative engine sputtering over the third Bannon & Clare book. Every word having to be chipped out of my cerebellum with a chisel and bloody sweat. But still, banging my head on the book is worse than nothing, I guess. Small mercies.
More small mercies: the Princess may finally be old enough to do her own laundry, the dogs are both happy and grinning, nothing has caught on fire or fallen down this week (yet). I have a couple movies to watch in between hammering at the book. The trailer-park fae are still speaking, the house is still solid. All things to be grateful for.
Other than that, not much to report. Life here is very wonderfully boring, except for Squirrel!Napoleon. He has developed quite a fondness for taunting the Mad Tortie, who keeps leaving dead birds all over the yard as warning. She’s a mighty hunter, that one; still, I suspect she may have found her match in a certain rodent.
But that’s another blog post. *wicked grin*