Billy just came in to lay next to my chair on the floor. Whiskey is in his den, snoozing. The fan is roaring. The day seems rather very hot outside. i have not been for a walk yet but sat outside at the back, on the deck. I should write a third story this week. About what, I wonder? The story of a artefact that gets passed down from generations to generations? The movie The Red Violin did exactly that way better than I ever could...
The story of a plant that gets passed down from house to generations? Maybe. The fan is roaring loudly and breezily. A plane passes in the sky. The door is closed but the window is open. Billy sighs on the floor. What to do today? I could walk the dogs, go to the vet, read Turning confusion into clarity by Rinpoche, or the botanical studies book of dickinson...