I don’t want to get up.

Make the coffee first, then set the oven to warm, then make your juices.

Curious about what today will bring. Do I have enough time to journal this morning? Maybe just one page. One page is better than none.

No pages.

The thing about being so low and so close is that I have to wait too long for the morning light. I miss the old house with its wall full of windows, the way I could great the sunrise and sunset every day. I miss standing at the sliding door with my coffee looking for the deer and the foxes and the owls.

I will have to do the best I can.

The day goes by quickly; after a week like last week, I am good with things feeling a little slower.

James Baldwin and Maya Angelou had that same kind of voice, a church voice, a powerful voice, an intellectual voice, a honeyed voice; everything sounds like song, like in any minute they would begin to sing.

Oh yeah, this is good. It’s been so long since I’ve had it. A Brouilly that does not taste like Brouilly. We need to get back to Kermit Lynch soon.

Her stories say something like 3 more holidays until Christmas. I tighten up. Yeah. That’s right.