I had just over half an hour outside yesterday, between writing and domestic chores. It was bliss. Not exactly warm, the sun was still life-giving and benificent in its rays. And the birds sang and sang. Someone had a radio or stereo on. I didn’t mind. It was part of it – that outsideness of being with the birds, the occasional butterfly, men cutting lawns and kids with music blaring. A stab at freedom, I suppose. I drew and it took longer than I’d imagined. So much so that I didn’t have long to sit and do nothing, which is what I really wanted to do. Five minutes to close my eyes with the sun on my face. It was enough.
