Notes From a Slow Morning
Coffee, fog on the hills, and a few thoughts that did not fit anywhere else.
The fog came in overnight and has not lifted yet. From the kitchen window the hill looks like a soft grey shape someone forgot to finish drawing.
I made coffee with too much water, the way I like it on cold mornings, and sat with a notebook for an hour before I touched anything that lights up.
A few things that came out of the hour:
I should write more often, even when I have nothing to say. Especially when I have nothing to say.
The list of things I want to read this year is longer than the list of things I want to publish. I am going to try to keep it that way.
There is a difference between being busy and being engaged, and most of the time I am only the first one.
By the time I finished my second cup the fog was thinning, the way it always does, and the hill was a hill again.
A good morning. Worth writing down.