A day of light morning rain and chilly temperatures. I did my three hours of writing in the morning, sitting in the warm sunroom, typing and listening to celtic harp music and sometimes pausing to see the sparrows swarming around the feeders. It was a few hours of pure fun for me, just slowly letting the right words find themselves and settle on the screen. I thought of this, later, after lunch, when we listened to an episode of "On Being", where a songwriter spoke of the great mystery of where a song comes from. He said, with emphasis, that he has no idea where the words for his songs come from, and I feel the same about my writing. Somehow, from somewhere, words arrive for me when I start tapping the keyboard.

"Last Bail", oil,
by Delilah Smith

Delycia cooked up another beautiful dinner for us -- delicious in every way. I especially loved the spicy baked cauliflower, though I better not eat too much more because of the spiciness. During the day, she occasionally strolled around her gardens, inspecting the new shoots arising all around. (This is a very happy time of year for her!) She also spent quite a long time calling around to nurseries to see about getting some salt marsh hay for mulch, with little luck.

I went to Pine Point for a short rehearsal with the 4th grade for a Grandparents Day presentation of the "energy dance" they performed a few months ago
(with my narration).