Fifteen minutes ago it was Monday, wasn't it?
All right, maybe not, but it sure seems like Time is holding up its skirts and dashing willy-nilly along its allotted path. Maybe it has the trots, or maybe it has seen something in the past that frightened it. (Notice I refrain from saying that maybe the trots are from the past eight years of eating shit in the form of the Presidency, and I also refrain from droning about the past and the Great Depression. I am sooo clement.)
In any event, my release from burning pain has sparked a delightful desire to do creative things, so I've been painting, writing, doing pastels, dragging old unfinished projects out and working on them. Studio Prime Time is currently from 2:30pm until 6, when the air gets chill again. That will change as the season does, and the season is boogying. Buds on our pomegranate have appeared, though they haven't turned red yet. The nectarine buds are giggling, standing in the wings, waiting for the end of the almond blossom extravaganza, which has just begun.
Tomorrow I'm spending the day outdoors, hoping for some good blossom shots. Then I'll be content to hole up for a spring rain storm. There are too few of them left before Sweet Spring turns to Hot California.