Another warm fore- and afternoon. I missed my cool-of-the-day walking window; perhaps early evening instead, then. These breezes (as opposed to gales) sweeten the day.

Hard to believe school is out. Neighborkids are with their fathers abroad for a week or two, so quiet prevails, and no interruptions other than those imposed by my role as care provider to my brother, husband, and pets.

Inevitably, then, I remain stalled creatively. I struggle not to toss it all in the fire: keep the eye on the process, not the result.

Movement of body moves the mind. This is true. So I break from Sylvia's innards and go out to tend the wilting yardplants and feed the trough-fishes, run the errands, make the stew to get us through to payday.

Tormented Elm lends her winddriven stems to the afternoon chorus, and I can detect no suffering behind her generosity.