Sometimes I am a hyperefficient word-magician.
And sometimes everything goes to heck.
Two weeks ago, our basement flooded as part of a nefarious scheme by the nearby river to top its previous flood record, set in 1913 (the birth year of my aunt, Frances Floodine Jacobs).
A few days later, a close family member landed in ICU with a hankering for immediate brain surgery.
When I can write, I can write nonstop. And when I can’t write, I can’t write at all.
When I can’t write, I bury myself behind the lens of a camera instead. Here’s what I photographed the past few weeks when not writing/drying my basement/visiting the hospital:
Snowdrops next to the sodden foundation of my floating house.
This dude, found in a box of old toys.
This decaying condemned house.
A vintage Pepsi bottle filled with ice, mud, and iced mud.
The old baler.
Feral cat secretly wants to model.