We sat out last night after supper. The sun was too lovely and I longed to be still in its warmth. He came with me and I listened to his stories, my eyes closed and face lifted. It makes me feel better, it gets me out of my usually fearful head. And I am grateful.
She writes describing her anxiety and my heart goes out to her. I feel so useless when dear friends write of their sadness and disease. Will warm thoughts ever be enough?
Will Self on the radio talking about the editing process and I think about combining fractional pieces of sewing and imagery and text. All I ever need is time. Meanwhile, I have this last one to write.