I started to learn that to write is to live, and you can’t do much of the former without the latter.
The end of the world or start of a weekend when everyone’s away.
It can be scary for a contractor without the promise of work lined up after you end a gig, like a trapeze artist letting go of one swing and reaching out for the next.
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.
Knowing we had it good then but not realizing how much.
Who gets a day with nothing to do? What time is this?
Days the world just settles in around you.