I'm out on the front porch again. It's a busy street, but I don't mind. Someone is pounding on something & my downstairs neighbor is talking on the phone--I can kinda sorta hear her through her screened open window. I'm not listening. There are many birds I don't know the names of, and mourning doves, which I do, obviously. Birdchick would not be proud of me. (Hi Sharon.) But I did see an indigo bunting at the Arboretum a few weeks ago, so fabulously electrically blue it was worth figuring out, so perhaps she'll forgive me.
A woman with bright red (cherry koolaid red) hair just walked a leashless dog past on the sidewalk. Asheville folk love their dogs. That is to my advantage, since it was pet-sitting that brought me here.
I'm feeling a certain amount of inertia right now, lounging here with my feet up. Inner-Shhh. Of course, that only works for the "tendency of a body at rest to stay at rest" sort of inertia, rather than the "tendency of a body in motion to stay in motion" sort, but I'll keep it anyway. Inner-Shhhh. Stillness. Silence of the self. I was just working on the beginning of a story, oddly enough in pencil, in a yellow college-ruled spiral-bound notebook. (I know, Cathy. Lines! It's me, though. I haven't been abducted by aliens. Or maybe I have & I just think I'm still me.)
Anyway, I'm going to sit here for a while, just quietly, & then try to get the other sort of inertia going long enough to get to the 24/7 internet coffee shop to post this & back home again. (Shh! Don't tell my inner porch potato; she'll stage a sit-in.)
Blog alternative:
52. Wash some dishes by hand & enjoy it. Warm soapy water, clean rinsing, towel or drip dry.
