Live Each Day

The weather continues to hold here—the bluest skies, the thin white streaking clouds—and today I'll sit out on the deck with a pile of magazines, newspapers, my own fourth-novel manuscript, which has reached that stage of not-quite-yet-complete; I want to cast one final spell of imagination over it; I want to remove the excess; I want to balance off the rhythms, find greater harmonies. I'll take my phone out there and hope for text messages from my son, whose wit has revealed itself newly in the 160-character range.

Days such as these are gifts, and I don't take one of them for granted.

I'll walk afterward, camera in hand. I'll begin the search for new ideas. A thread that might take my dreams somewhere.