Each year I like to paint a different Christmas wreath. This one is actually one of John’s, which he displays on the big wooden gate that leads up his driveway. The day has been slow, punctuated by long walks, and getting a few things done around the house, making decisions about how I want things, getting used to stuff in general. It’s been a week since I’ve been camping out here, and a week is not a very long time.
There’s been some progress on the Kickstarter campaign too, and perhaps even more importantly, on the manuscript as well.
Driving to Galveston yesterday to take the dog to the vet for her shots did inspire me, though the visit seemed too short, the stolen glimpse of a roseate spoonbill too fleeting, the walk with my friend, shielded by masks and other protection, too devoid of oysters. But perhaps it’s fitting, as throughout most of the book, Aimée feels like things are moving too fast and every joy is gone before she can seize it.
I get a bit blue this time of year because it gets dark so fast. But bear with me. I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve in order to cheer myself up – including finishing this book.