Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Fifteen
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Slow Saturday.
I go a little further on the trail this time, climb more and more of the dirt stairs cut into the hillside. The views from here are worth the extra effort. I’m still too afraid to walk the whole loop alone.
The gift of grocery pick-up and delivery.
I should have made time for the beach.
She reminds me that we’re supposed to be reading the book about rest, which is ironic because right now, I am trying to rest and feeling guilty about it.
I sit and write. It is mostly groupings of unanswered questions.
“Let it be a love letter to California.”
This is Sunday-after-church macaroni-and-cheese.
“The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it.” - Incubus
