Storm sign, ley line,
A witch's filthy lie,
Breathe last, far path
A liar's broken staff.
So today began with fluffy white clouds lined with velvet undersides moving across the blue sky. Everything smells like rain, and a bit like ozone, even my water bottle. Even the cat, flopped across my chest and purring, smelled fresh... he even buzzed, purring like a small engine there.
Anticipated challenges have been cleared away, leaving me to dwell over my mug on things that need doing and things done. Pulling up some of my writing in my professional role from a month ago, I find myself getting out the red pen, gritting my teeth, and preparing for excision of bad bits. Writing-related OCD is a terrible and wonderful thing.
The sky, throughout the day, can't decide on brilliant blue or silvery grey. It rains like bastards in the Bay winter and spring. Despite the glaring pain in my overly-sensitive eyes, I find myself wishing for more sunlight, more warm days.
I never thought I'd miss the desert. Though, I suppose, I don't. Just the sun.