Cotoneaster fruit after yesterday’s winter storm, the bush to the east of the garden shed. We got quite a lot of snow, here. March typically has more snowfall than February. Because it’s warmer, I think.
surface when the silent snow falls
So far, this has been a quiet month…sleeping in, recovering from the latest bouts of respiratory unrest and colds (perhaps, mild flu symptoms?), and a disinclination to do anything.
Enjoyed a long telephone call, last night, from a friend who moved to the Southwest U.S. some years ago. Fun to visit with someone, again. Also enjoyed getting a haircut, exchanging stories with my stylist. They gave their young child a live chicken for Christmas! So far it’s living in a coop in the garage and laying eggs. They’re contemplating (rural setting) expanding the chicken population, since it seems to be a great hit. I got to watch a couple of phone videos of the chicken recipient singing “Old McDonald Had a Farm” to the chicken.
My morning alarm has rung, and I must get out of bed and heat breakfast. (I cooked a tilapia fillet for the first time, last night, and it turned out well. Thinking to reheat the remaining ounces and call that breakfast.)
A beautifully cloudy day, but naught to catch my eye but fallen leaves, and those are not covered by any snow at all. The weather has been dry and windy, and I despair at keeping the floors clean, since dust blows in each time the doors are opened.
Against the Wall
Beyond the Fence
Rabbit Escape Route
During November (2017), I took part in a “poem a day” activity with the same group who got together for NaPoWriMo in April. I still am working on a few that need more attention; the remainder are on my Quiet Spaces journal, The Written Word at Home (the “posts” link).
The day was cold, dry and windy, although warmer and calmer than the day before. Most of the snow has melted away, and precipitation does not figure into the weather forecast before Wednesday.
I have bought a paper journal, after all these years. Now, to overcome the hesitation to fill the pages with less than brilliance, ending up with a book of pristine pages and my thoughts and poetry scattered in text files throughout six computers and blog posts on the Internet. Actually, I am finding that my skin sensitivities are lessening, and I think the archival-quality paper may not irritate my hands. I’ve also bought colored pens.
I enjoy writing. It’s okay to “ruin” good paper when playing with words and sketches. (And, no, I have no talent for drawing. Whatsoever!)