Thankfully Bill comes home tonight, because I am well and truly over my extended spell of winter and like a butterfly I long to fly south. And also west. He can distract me for a short spell of time, but no more. I have a no-Missouri policy in January and February. And I just have a little over a week before guests begin arriving for the Tucson shows, and my house fills with people and books and envelopes and laughter and wine bottles, so many wine bottles.
It will be a whirl. So I am looking forward to a week of utter and complete quiet. Weather in the 60s…. it will be gardening weather. I’ll string lights and put out lanterns for the party. I’ll cut the frozen vines back, untie the tarps. I’ll put a lot of beads into a lot of tubes, and pack up postcards and sign signature plates.
And I’ll think about everything. It’s been a bit intense, having everything that I didn’t think about for so long once again engage me. So much to think about, I have so many questions.
Plots hatch, unbidden, springing from the well in my spirit and emerging like blades of grass through the dirt that the eight pigeons that mill around in my head are nibbling in.