Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Self-Portrait in a Sweatshirt



In January I set up camp at the dining room table in order to finish my wellness manual in the evenings.  Like kudzu, I have been creeping across the land and now it seems unlikely that my stacks of books and I will be leaving the dining room anytime soon .  I like writing at tables.  Right now, except for the sound of heavy branches hitting the roof and agitating my PTSD, it is an idyllic spot to write and watch the snow fall.  At night, though, while I'm typing, if I look up, I can only see myself in the window.