I was asked yesterday if I was an artist. I instinctively said, no. Then thought, wait, I’m a writer. Maybe that counts.

Well, let’s see what part of my psyche I’d like to explore today. No turmoil to speak of, although I wish the wind would stop blowing. Seriously, what’s the rush? Where’s it going in such a hurry?

I did it again, found another memory cloud. This one was on purpose. I was killing time yesterday in preparation for my granddaughter’s area track meet.

I ran into a memory cloud yesterday. There was a brief pang of loss followed by a small pulse of tears.

It was a wet rainy day by the river, but in a year of drought and burn bans, a wet rainy day by the river is still a good day.

It’s a gray morning on the river, but any morning on the river is a good morning and it’s supposed to clear up later today, so all is not lost.

Another holiday weekend is in the books. Of course, this was a big one, a major Christian holiday, and I suppose it remains to be seen how everyone lives the message.

Easter. We tend to think of it as a single day, Sunday, but it’s actually a multi-day, multi-week contemplation of death and resurrection.

I’m away from home. I miss my home. Why? The routine. I get up in the morning. I fix my coffee. I feed the cats. I write. I eat breakfast. I tour the yard and then the day starts. When I’m away from home I have to run my routine in the empty spaces of my hosts lives.

There is a little know law of Texas geophysics which states that in any sequence of post holes at least one hole must encounter a rock of significant size, particularly if the holes are being dug in what appears to be good, soft soil.