Katitude

Getting a little bit closer to understanding my mother.

I posted this on Instagram because I liked the paradox of an empty page ready to be written on with an empty pen unable to write.

No one but me got it.

I have never held not tasted a puffball mushroom in my life, and Keith finds this beauty along the path under the the pine trees.

Because we’re adults, and we can do what we want. Sometimes.

Looking at the sky as I wait for Cynthia at Good Grief Coffee.

I was driving home from work along CR7, and this just seemed to sum up my day.

Hello Writer asked what would the ideal writing spot look for you?

Is it unimaginative of me to reply, the one I have?

Writing in the morning, and killing myself by doing too much at work in the afternoon, so the evening was spent in a bubble bath with lots of Epsom salts and a gin and tonic.

I am almost glad not every day is like this; I would hate it if I became so jaded about this perfection that I was meh about it.

So many small moments; riding in to Thornbury and seeing a big murmuration of starling descend on a cornfield. Eating lunch at the park on the shore, watching waves and an appropriately distanced knitting circle on the grass. Talking with Chris at the cottages. The chill of the ride home. Watching the sun go down from my chair in the green room.

I am grateful for each and every moment of grace.