Empty Bottle of Ice-melt

2024.12.12

Good morning, that wonderful way.

Early, even for me.

The West coast was still awake when Abe heard something on the porch and woke me up.

An empty bottle of ice-melt fell from the rail, knocked over by the after rain heavy winds.

Thought it was the often pregnant neighborhood cat.

Sometimes it's better just to stay awake.

One of those days yesterday. When the world has a temper tantrum for nothing you did, but there you are in its fury mitigating its mess, absorbing its blows.

A punching bag for another's failed expectations.

Over now. Sleep brings its own clarity, its own calm, its own justice.

Another New Pen Day, so back to handwriting.

I do prefer it. It lends itself to the kind of calm focus necessary for the craft.

If I wrote News Journalism I'd lean more toward the keys. The quick tell me more nature of the reader is better served by the state of an author typing rather than longhand.

Journals ought to be written by hand. A more personal touch of prose comes through a more personal touch of pen to page.

I used to use paper. I didn't think I'd enjoy the E-ink screen as much as I do.

Any other screen is a slippery slimy experience best avoided for anything other than note-taking.

I'd write about the sunrise, but it's still a few hours away.

Better to mention Abe's snoring snout on the arm of the loveseat; it’s about as dependable as a sunrise.

Sometimes the entries are personal moments of practical things: new pens and old coffee mugs, E-ink screens and dog paws hanging off loveseat cushions instead of the dog bed centimeters away, at times running with dog paddles in the night air, deep jogger's breaths replaced with snores for dreams, a loveseat for a dog bed for an upgrade.

A well-deserved one, empty bottle of ice-melt, or near always pregnant cat wake up call, or not.

Take care, enjoy your work, and have your better…