Porthole

Nothing to see here

10 p.m. and I'm yawning. Not a good sign.

Recent poems:

"Þimbleberries Þieves (Thimbleberry Thieves) [178.4] " 
"What cannot die survives [5zm]" 
"Fifty years later her wrinkles still laugh [6]" 

But I'm toast when it comes to doing anything beyond cooking, eating, washing dishes. Right now that's my whole life.

I shared elsewhere: "I'd love to sit down with all the lovely people I once knew.

I think some of my friends would consider me intelligent ... but I know better! There are many types of intelligence I lack.

I've cut back on the book of faces. Still check in but I needed a break. It'll be more important when I travel.

My traveler friends care little about my writing.
My writer friends care little about my travels.

The people I know where I live care little about either.
My family cares even less.

39 degrees at 11:30 and warming? Not that one can tell... The heavens must've heard ... a minute of sunshine.

Beverly Clearly (1916-2021) died, age 104.

https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/beverly-cleary-legendary-children-s-author-who...

Another day of 'not caring'? I don't dare lay back down.

44 degrees at 2 p.m. So far a lost day. Need to write, read, something.

"Not giving in [7]" 
"Dwindling [8]" 

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