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Ed can't let go of his rooster, I can't let go of my writing project.

Here he is, taunting me with the (alleged) sweetness of Oreo (who is yet to be picked up by the chicken mama).






At the same time that he quietly places the scrappy sleeping bag by the door, so that I can exit the house without fear.

(Exiting the house -- how Fall-ish the pathway looks right now! Like a steamy jungle of yellowing flora...)






(...ah, Butter has spotted me; here she comes!)






Well, I understand. For him, it's Oreo. Me, I'm attached to my keyboard and my Word text.  so that after a lovely breakfast in the sun room, though without the sun (it was there when I started to set the table, I swear it was!)...






...and after a lovely walk in the park just up the road -- that same park that is our go to spot for cross country skiing...






...where the sun did come out, if fleetingly...































...after all that, I sit down and rewrite three separate paragraphs, even though I had already sent this thing off and should be putting my mind to the next project. I have lived with my text for so long (eight years), that it is forever drawing me in. Forcing me to reconsider sentence choices, vignette inclusions, on and on, until the day I die.

Well, maybe not that long.