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Ever have absolutely no idea what to write about?

I found a robin’s egg today. Like a piece of the sky fallen to the ground. But then that makes me think that the sky is the womb of a bird. And that’s just weird. Too earthy. And weird.

I write that I like nice weather, but it brings people out in droves. Like minuscule flies swarming over a crab carcass. Nah. Too introverted (about the people). And just gross (about the flies).

My fantasy book is like a wraith. No. Phantom. Yeah, that was the word I came up with this morning. I figure when it starts showing up in my dreams, I’d better just start working on it again. Thank You God for not striking me dead when I told You I had other important things to do today.

I think about writing of the sweat crystals on my face as I trudged up the steepest hills in our neighborhood. Backpacking training and all that jazz. And how, as the water tumbled down over my face, I could still taste salt on my upper lip.

I feel the ache in my hand, and my mind drifts to the inevitable trip to see the doc. Oh boy. That’s the last thing I need right now. Maybe I’ll put it off a bit longer.

I think of winter. And lawns. And how rude it is (apparently. I had no idea. I see a yard, I cross it) to walk on other people’s lawns. You like buying good books? You enjoy gift shops? What’s WRONG with you?! (Thanks a lot. Forget I ever heard your voice).

Capitol Lake. There’s an invasive species of snails there. The lake is off limits to people. Way to ruin our native nature. Good job, invasive person. No worse, I suppose, than telling me I shouldn’t cross brambles in my fancy, new boots. Bird’s nests are boring, after all.

The birdhouse! There! That’s it. You cannot see it unless you creep between the tall, wooden fence and the trees. Its wood is grey. I lift the face of it. Whorls of spider webbing encircle the inside, blanketing thin air. Moss makes a soft bed below. I couldn’t convince anyone in the family to go baby bird hunting with me. I was convinced I heard a towhee’s babies over that fence. Instead, I found a robin’s eggshell. A bit of the sky.

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