Authorial Pursuits

It's thinking about spring here. The fellow at left shares my mind.

The glacier is receding. We've only six more weeks with any real chance of snow. Record this year. Ninety inches for the season.

Life isn't just work and writing. It seems like it through these long late winter days though.

I've made arrangements for a week this spring in a cottage on the best trout river east of the Mississippi. I'll use my new custom fly rod [ Thanks Mark!], smoke a briar, walk, write.

I've raspberries to replace from winter loss. I need to expand the Blueberry extravaganza to include a hedge separating yard from meadow along the lane. My blackberries did very well last year and it should be a great year.

I've meadow to scythe. I've bunnies for the foxhound to chase. I'll have fawns in the meadow again if the two deer herds visiting my sumac patch are any indication. One has seventeen does, one has eleven.

I'm painting a hallway, the master bedroom, a bathroom.

I've oils and a plein air box to use for some Sunday painting and I do need to start a painting for the grand daughter of a girl bear on an exotic alien planet. I think exotic alien planet means a "purple moon."

I'll have a Sunday dinner in the front yard on trestles for a dozen or so friends. I'll make fried chicken.

There are so many things that make me happy. It is however the writing that puts my mind at some form of ease.

I don't know why this grows more and more these days. As I say in my bio: it's a type of disease.

I hope your happiness is coming along nicely here in the last of winter. Hang on there: spring is coming.

The ice cream store in my little town opened today. That's a sure sign.

Have a cone. Write about it. Imagine spring, cold water, and dancing trout on four weight line.

I will.