Today I am having a “day off”.  This is not the same as a day off, which is an entirely different kettle of fish.

A “day off” involves little work on my fiction.  Instead I channel my creative energy (and lack thereof) into other endeavours.  Today I am continuing to craft a journal submission, starting a magazine article, and also tinkering with my tumblr and web sites, including this one.

It is a beautiful day outside, so I think I will take the afternoon to go for a stroll.  I need to go to a bank to discuss setting up an account for the allotment association (having been cornered into being their treasurer) and I would quite like to look for a certain piece of wood (softwood, seasoned, at least an inch in diameter, preferably two).  Perhaps along the river.  It is an odd thing, the river, in summer the view back to town looks like it could have been taken in deepest England, rather than the Scottish far north.  I will post a photo to demonstrate.

The birds are returning and the air is filled with their song.  At least it is when I get outside.  When I am inside I cannot hear the birds — if I were to open my window the cold air would quickly kill off my over-wintering chillis.  Or the remaining two which survived others looking after them during my absence.

We also have another piano arriving today, and I am wondering how the removal team will get it into the music room.  Time will tell.  Time always does tell, but sometimes it lies.

 

Days Off

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