Goodnight friends! Stepping stones wallow deep in swollen streams, drifted leaves swallowed up by muddy rivules coursing through the woods. Branches above become a ghostly web of suggestions woven from sticky fog. Rain and mist in alternating bands of grey leave air heavy and clammy, soil sponge-saturated. Harsh coughing calls of grows, grey in the grey boughs.
Achey and worn out, unsurprisingly, not a lot of energy spare. I think my brief cooking adventure took a bit more out of me than it seemed at the time, or maybe I’m just recovering very slowly.
May we allow ourselves to believe in our potential and push onward to make it real today!
