putty

Early in the day, a dove sat down on my outdoor flowerpot and twiddled and fidgeted while another, her partner perhaps, watched from above.





Spring?

But why such a string of gray days?! With a haze at dusk, I’m reminded of a coastal climate. Have we run through our allotment of gentian blue winter skies?





After work, I head for the farmhouse.

Progress!





It’s time that I get started on the windows. There are only nine new ones, but there’s a lot of pine there to prep, stain and seal.

The light is fading. I’m fading too. My entire work effort this evening consists of filling nail holes with putty.

Ed, in the meantime, is running wires behind walls. This way, down here, across that way. We work in our beloved silence. And it is quiet at the farmhouse. The creak of a floor board, nothing more.