It seems to me that my written world here has gone a bit stale. It's not that life is stale, but I've not had enough time, enough inspiration, enough ___(fill in the blank)___. And you know what? I'm pretty okay with that.
I sometimes think about why I started writing. It's not that I felt I was a writer of fabulous words and just HAD to get them out. More like, I wanted to not have to write the same email to all our family and friends after having moved here. The cool thing is that I've met a few people along the way. A perk.
So as I reflect upon this I am struck by this thought:
The air today is perfect here. The sun is warm on my face as I harvest more beans (sorry Dad, they're going in my belly tonight, but there are more on the vine). Neighbors are out walking with their baby. And the breeze feels cool on my skin.
I find it hard to tear myself away from such a perfect evening any longer...