I better write right now, rather than waiting until later, which doesn’t seem to come until the next day. Fog swirled about through the night, thick fog, hiding bright lights, obscuring trees, but now the sky is bright blue, or nearly so once the sun rises over the horizon.
It is my birthday week, and I’m taking things slower than normal, still writing, mostly pondering, trying to find renewal of rhythm which likely won’t start until next week. Ah well. All there is to do is keep at what I can.