This is the kind of faulty, circuitous reasoning that leads explorers and inventors to take great risks – only to fail, but I cannot think that way. If I did, my Great Book Writing project would be nothing more than a Laughable Nonbook Writing Fiasco. I’m not there yet.
If I’m to write my Book Notes draft, what’s to become of Ocean in the weeks ahead?
Well, I could recycle photos:
Ah! Had you fooled? These aren’t recycled at all, they’re fresh from the
I have to say that the return home has been made much easier knowing that there is a café waiting for me here (EVP Fitchburg, with the affable and wonderful barista – don’t ever leave!). And a market, too, with La Baguette’s best of the best breads delivered hot, really quite hot from the ovens every Tuesday afternoon.
All this leads me to think that perhaps I wont have to recycle life or photos in the weeks ahead. There's always something fresh and honest to take note of, even if your sole trip is between a coffee shop and home.
Home. Where weeds grow and trees lean under the weight of seasonal success. Where my one tomato plant stands tall, ready to face fierce competition from Ed's arsenal of of tomato plantings.
Home. Happy as anything to be home. Pain au chocolat breakfasts and rosé wine lunches belong to a time and place. Not here, and not just at this second. Soon. I always hope it's soon. But not now.
