Earlier this week, while the dogs and I were walking, I found the very last snow of winter. I’m pretty sure there won’t be more, at least–of course, the way 2022 is going, I’ll be proven dreadfully wrong as a nuclear blizzard descends.
Win some, lose some, I guess.
The urge to crawl into stories and pull the door closed behind me is overwhelming lately, and no wonder. I can’t even scrape up any hope that next week will be better, I’m stuck on “let’s just pray it doesn’t get worse.” Regardless, spring has arrived, however fitfully. The planet will continue on its merry way whether or not humanity drowns itself with radioactive bloodshed.
…I keep trying to be cheerful, or at least quietly optimistic, but it’s not happening. Have a good weekend, my beloveds. Be gentle with yourselves, and each other. It’s a madhouse out there; take what peace you can find.
Over and out.