It was a bit of a week, and this one coming up will have some steep curves to get through as well.  Saturday, I felt lonesome for the garden, and drove by a few times to make sure it is still there (it was).  Owing to this undeniably wrong November weather, I can plant some more bulbs next week, as an excuse to scrumble around in the dirt.  It was too soggy for digging yesterday.

I’m not telling myself most of my feelings – or at least not too honestly.  They come down to wishing for fleeting perfection to last, I suppose.  Driving into the sunset with you, in particular, but also laughing so hard with Pammy at Captain Kirk that my stomach hurt.

But I don’t want to look inside too closely just now.  I don’t want to see, that’s partly true.  Mainly, though, because I have a habit of finding such painful ways to fill in the blanks.  I think maybe if I leave them open a little longer, I might remember to be kinder about myself, and with those kinder answers, let the ghosts drift back to their shadows and rest.

Any pictures that work out do so purely on Flower Power.  That’s a fact.