It's raining pink dogwood blossoms in the front yard. The fall isn't heavy enough to frolic under, but they drift down and across the front lawn, from time to time getting my corner-of-the-eye attention. Cooder is sitting in that open window and is either part of the view or a block. She must see a bird out there as she is rapt. Well, maybe she can't exactly see since she is partly blind, but her ears are perked and moving.
A couple of days later.
Now it is just hellaciously pouring as I put the final items into my bag in preparation for my trip to Schroon Lake later today. It's very dark out there and still fairly muggy, even though it is raining. I have the fan in my room going.
And all I actually have to offer as a writer, is my version of life. — Anne Lamott
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