the floor is full of toys and there are dishes to wash (floors to wash, clothes to wash…), but the sun is falling on my chair.  That warm, winter sun.  And there is tea and the quiet of two children sleeping.  I am going to sit in that sun and sit in it well.

And also,

This year.

This new year.  I am going to write here more.  Not better, not longer, just more often.  Read the new translation of The Iliad and The Autobiography of Mark Twain.  Unsubscribe.  Less noise.  More listening.  More writing.  More making.  More talking to strangers.

Happy New Year, friends!



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