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Monday night.
Front-loading my working weeks to give me afternoons for writing is, apparently, what now works for me to get my words out. The usual nighttime switch is flipped, and I don't know how to feel about this. Maybe it's the job I have right now, maybe it's my caffeine intake, maybe it's something in the air pressure, but whatever reason, I'm genuinely managing it. And since it's working, I have to keep doing it.
The petals are off the trees now, pretty much all of them. It's been raining, wet, and moist here, with the wind working to clean off the flowers. But the leaves are that astonishing verdant which always strikes me as astonishingly deep and lush, no matter how many years I've lived in this climate.
The petals are off the trees now, pretty much all of them. It's been raining, wet, and moist here, with the wind working to clean off the flowers. But the leaves are that astonishing verdant which always strikes me as astonishingly deep and lush, no matter how many years I've lived in this climate.