It's a good thing that I'm not a writer. This many days without a new post would have put me in a slump if I was. I may even be diagnosed with writer's blogk. (Sorry, really sad, I know.)
The thing is, there is just not much to say. Well, I guess there is, but it's all kind of foreboding and dreary.
In keeping with all metaphoric meanings, the bear is back. It apparently strolled right through the front yard last night. Thankfully, I was not home to witness the event. I knew something was up as soon as I pulled into the driveway and my very alert husband came running out on the porch, waving me into the garage like a traffic cop with one hand while scanning the landscape with the other hand over his brow. My sanctuary has been compromised.
In another example of metaphoric realms mirroring real happenings, there is a tremendous storm brewing. All non-writers best get off electrical equipment...
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1 comment:
His hand was not over his brow! How dramatic.
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