The Dark Half of the Year
Winter here isn't snow. It's rain and early dark. I've stopped fighting it and started doing what the season seems to want, which is mostly to hunker.
Writing
Notes on reading, living slowly, and paying attention.
The Same Chair by the Window
One café, one corner table, watched long enough to start teaching me things. I've seen a single plane tree very thoroughly and I'm not sure I've got less out of it.
Where My Attention Goes
I caught myself reaching for the phone before the coffee, with nothing I actually wanted to check. Not a detox manifesto. Just the once, I noticed.
A Notebook for Nothing in Particular
Not a journal. A plain hardback with no system, into which I copy whatever I don't want to lose and can't think of a use for. The uselessness is what keeps it alive.
Permission to Stop Reading
I have a graveyard of bookmarks at page forty. The day I gave up on a book and didn't regret it, finishing stopped being a virtue I owed anyone.