an eastern exposure

My desk is next to the only east-facing window in the house. this time of year, sunrise is usually marked by a subtle lightening of the overall gloom. Really, the cloud cover is so heavy that you don't cast a shadow. But occasionally, the clouds layer up, and the sun sneaks a few rays through, and we get early morning color.

(sings) "Sunarise - comes in the morning - fluttering her skirts all around."

So there I am in my raccoon-rousting robe and my rubber-soled slippers, standing in the rain with my camera, and I break into song, and scare the crap out of the little dog who is taking her owner for a walk down at the corner. It's a quiet morning, and I have a voice that carries. And the little dog yaps for minutes afterwards. I can hear it even after the brief flash of color fades and I go back inside. Sorry, neighbors.

Willow is doing shelf and drawer attacks, clearing and purging and simplifying her life. I thought I would share a picture of the foetid nest where my creativity is fledged. It's like this all. the. time. Clutter here and chaos there and a totally organic filing system. (What ever I used last is closest. ) And if you think this is a tangled mess, you ought to visit the inside of my brain. Or maybe not. It's pretty crowded in here as it is. When company comes over, I slide down the roll top of the desk, and herd the less reputable parts of my personality into the playroom of my id, and execute the ostrich manuevure which postulates that if I don't see it, it doesn't exist.

Now, however, I have to start swamping out the den before the ladies come over for knitting. So folks, if you show up, just don't unroll the desk-top. I may have stuffed a few personal quirks under there for the duration. If once my inner babboon gets loose, it takes hours to corrall her again, and until we do, the feces will assuredly hit the fan. Wah-hoo!