Never let anyone tell you writing isn’t work. This morning, before I put fingers to keyboard, I had to lie down on the floor, on my back, and re-attach the holder for my keyboard.

Sore muscles and a satisfied mind seem to be the combination.

The story ends better than it starts.

I confess. It felt good toiling in the yard once again.

I have been remiss. My gardens need tending, and I have done nothing. Deadwood needs trimming. Weeds need pulling. Borders need tidying. Instead, I have gone gallivanting around the countryside for the first quarter of the year.

Spring. The swallows are back.

Recently, a news story caught my eye. A pickup crossed the center line and hit a van in West Texas. The occupants of the truck died as did most of the occupants of the van,

I had a good day yesterday. I wrote a song. I was noodling around with my new chord and a piece of a tune popped into my head along with some nonsense words.

The waxing gibbous moon is still pretty, big, and bright over the pasture. The northwest wind is gusting, and the air is clear and cool.

Went to the hills south of town and watched the sun go down yesterday evening. More precisely, I watched as the earth turned leaving the sun right where it always is, in the middle of the solar system.

I fell to earth yesterday. My three good days took a hit. It happened in the afternoon. I was looking at social media and realized I’d missed a Monday evening event to which I was invited.

I had a good day yesterday. Got a massage in the morning. Played golf in the afternoon. Did really at both.

Animals. Two stories.

Here are the choices. Lids. Cold weather. Gumbo. I know. It’s confusing. But I have to start somewhere, and this is the best I can offer.

Went into the hills of Austin last night to hear music.

Most evenings, as I head off to slumber, I’m thinking about what I want to write the next day.

Let me check. Yes, I’m home. With nothing much to do in the coming days except go listen to music. That will be a balm.

Here I am again, writing away from home. It’s okay, though. I’m at the home of my eldest.

For the first time in well over a week I woke up this morning without having to worry I was disturbing either a camping companion or a tiny grandchild.

Typically, my day starts early and slow. A little writing. A little coffee. A little sitting around. That all goes out the window with grandkids in the house.