It’s no longer Thursday, is it? I meant to write several nice, extremely witty blogs, but they never came to be. I’m hock-deep, processing edits for “Broken Gait.” I have a release of “Breakfall” coming out on June 27th. Finishing “Landfall” is like pulling teeth. Plus there is the other work that needs to be done – the work that pays the big bills.


Since my husband was using the computer that lets me add photos (and I am addicted to adding photos), I changed my plans last night. The picture you see is my view from the bathtub.

Sometimes, when you’re sore from walking on your treadmill desk and your brain is about to explode, the tub is the place to be.

The sound of heavy rain comes in through the open window, and as I close my eyes, I visualize my orchids, some in bloom and others in spike, just soaking it up. The ones I put out in a plastic basin. The ones I have to remember to take out again, lest they become water-logged.

The warm candlelight is steady. It reflects against the sandstone tile of the bath enclosure, lending an impression of an ancient cavern.

Cavern, rain, fire… Kipling! Of course, “The Cat Who Walked by Himself.”
And now I have to wonder if our cat is stuck under a car in the driveway in a misguided attempt to walk all by herself through the wet, wild woods, or whether she is on her perch in my daughter’s bedroom, observing the rain through her narrowed eyes.

Like a cat, I stretch and purr.

All too soon, it’s time to blow the candles out, let the water out, get out.

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