We’re spending the day inside listening to it, and to crackly opera on the little radio. I made blackberry vodka before the season ended for us to sip on days like this.
The stove is one, the house is cozily messy. I have plans to write when Petka naps, and plans to clean when inspiration hits. But inspiration rarely hits on rainy Sunday afternoons, and my cleaning can wait ‘til tomorrow.
I want to but a whole pile of books online and walk to collected them as they trickle in, one brown package after another. Then read them slowly in the dim evenings.
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