Planting Fertile Thoughts

It's 10:04 a.m. I've made and eaten breakfast. Washed, dried, and put away a load of laundry. Feed the assorted inside and outside birds and fish. Two guppies died overnight. They must have been old. The rummaging raccoon will dine tonight. I planted six camellias and two gardenia bushes. This is no small chore on the edge of the woods, roots grasping at every earthen slice of my shovel. Then it's the hauling of mulch, permatil, and top soil to the hole to mix it up before gently sliding the two-year old cutting into promising terra firma, embraced by a surrounding mound of mulch. Then the watering of them and the plants I put in yesterday. I'll shower in a minute. (Aren't you glad the Internet doesn't have smell-a-vision currently.)

Writing! Oh, yes. A memoir to look at and the second installment of a YA story...yeah, that's you Ron...await before my writing begins around 3 p.m. today. Unfortunately, Sydney, my cockateil, will interrupt me at 4 p.m. He cannot abide a day without Judge Judy. He has a crush on her. Either that, or the music appeals to him.

Later, the writing will continue. I can't edit my own stuff until I hit a thousand words. Perhaps this scenario of the writing life is backwards, but the air is cool in the morning, and my brain doesn't warm up until the afternoon. Such is life. Now, get out there and write.