Dark, cricket droning is low, and a single bird offers a hesitant trill, as if not wanting to wake anyone. This morning it is as if the world is standing still, holding it’s breath for the dawn.

I know most just a bit north are cool, but here the temps hold still at 75 each morning–a warm and humid 75.

Went to the bookmobile with Little Dude yesterday. I looked at the novels, actually felt interest in at least looking, and ended up choosing a couple. I noticed many names on the shelf of writers I used to know and talk with. A stirring took place within, the desire to write remains. I’m grateful for that, a beacon to move forward.

One can rest, but life is constant change, a constant moving forward whether you want to or not.