Sunday mornings when it's almost 60 are some of those times. I confess that I have been looking forward to this day ever since it appeared in the ten day forecast. I took a walk around my neighborhood, decided that the Tea Lounge was way too dark and not fitting for such a glorious morning, so I ordered my delicious (seriously the best in town) Cafe Au Lait to go and have parked myself in the bay windows in my own apartment. I opened the window. My writer's notebook and Staedtler pens are next to me. Bursting! And I need to document this, albeit not very poetic, to remember *hope* and spring when the temperature drops again.
Sigh. Currently playing (basically all of the kindred travelling songs...):
The Beautiful Sea.
Son of a Son of a Sailor.
For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti.
Liz on Top of the World.
Why Should I Cry for You.
Ok. Off to write some fiction.
1 comment:
remember when you wrote jimmy's lyrics on our walls? you.are.great.
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