…a dearth of anything. Am dealing with a bout of influenza. The doc said, go home two weeks in bed. This after I already spent eight days ailing, including an overnight stay in the local hospital.
All else is the fluttering of leaves in the wind.
Twin ink caps (fungi) that dried on the windowsill while I had my attention on other things
Writing is what I do. What I think about. What I meditate on. What I dream up. Listen to. Imagine. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I eat. And I walk. Pull out environmental weeds. There are a thousand more things I do, though writing comes into a fair few of those things too.
View all posts by Rita de Heer
Rita de Heer 