Nano starts tomorrow.
Today I went outside, scarf but no coat, into the wonderful, incredible brightness of an autumn palette1, and fell in love. It was not meant to be, but it was sweet while it lasted. Like all loves it was the fault of circumstances, of being in the wrong place all together. For me, this was the pound. People who make it a habit of saying they detest animals should never step foot into a pound. My fancy, being stimulated by the strangeness of the environment no doubt, fell on a ten-week old kitten, nearly a cat, so blue-gray that even his nose was slate. Apparently I love a gray cat – I was almost in a swoon over it. My roommate, however, has more sense and, seeing that today is Halloween, chose a smaller, darker cat– thus I escaped Love’s velvet snare. Bye is a Kiki’s Delivery cat. Perfectly black. Doomed to be spoiled.
So, Nanowrimo starts tomorrow and I’m almost ready. I should be reading the seven or eight chapters that have already been written, and I will. But now, the tomato-leaf scent of bright marigolds, bobbing under the weight of fat bumblebees, has inspired a restlessness which only a bit of nipping and tucking in the garden can cure. So out I go, to trim the Swiss chard and bring in some mint for drying.
- Spelling is such a wonderful door into connections of thought and history, isn’t it? Today it let me stop and consider the difference between a pallet, on which we stack dry goods, and the more refined, and overtly french, palette, on which we spread smears of paint↵