I went running this morning after taking Mandy to watch her kiddos. Then I scavenged in the backyard for some boards that I need for a project. Today is a painting day. Today is a story day. Today is a summer day. It's early, but it's days like this that you can already tell all of those things. There's something celestial about interrupting my morning rituals with art and inspiration. I like the rhythm of beginning a day, but I also like some shocking spontaneity. There's no better way to wake yourself up.
I read Curious George this morning, but I think that is apparent. I feel bright.
Today I'll probably take the little brother out so we can read and work on some projects in the sun. I have a pile of fairytale ideas that I unearthed before bed last night. They were slightly hidden between non-fiction works of mine and a story about a girl who died. I was a bit excited to find them. They're just a small stack, full of whimsical characters, tiny birds, and houses. But it's a stack nonetheless.
I like circular patterns that my writing takes. I begin somewhere and keep moving, but I always get back to where I started and then everything seems new again.
First though, before all sunshine and writing in circles, a shower with honey and lavender soap and then to tune Spring as best I can.
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