I'm not really writing these days, more like copying. Maybe I'm processing. Or what if I'm out of juice? It snowed again today. The winter is awfully long here. I supppose it builds character. I could always use more of that.
I've been here a while now and I've ceased to be stunned by every little thing, even though there are many beautiful little things that catch my attention in the course of a day, whether it's footprints in the snow, a freshly baked cookie from the EZ Bake oven or the sun coming up over the field across the street. It just seems harder to capture the details when I'm not on my way to or from someplace else. Even though I seem to have lost what was so special, I don't want to be anywhere else.