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I'm as restless as a migrating goose, but free of any drive to take off (or do much of anything).
I keep waiting for the first seen breath, the first comforter night, the first earnest foliage-drop. Those of you who know me will have patience, aware that I pine for my favorite season about this time every year, jealously ogling AP photos of New England leaves.
What do we have?
Rain. Tons and tons of mid-fifties rain.
A permanent holding pattern.
But today I "found" an hour and a half to snuggle into a corner of a deep sofa at a local wine bar. I'm enjoying a delicious glass of red wine, and doing my best to imagine that it's as cold as it looks outside.
Cheers!
