I’m in Arizona for a week — just south of Tucson, housesitting for my dear friend Jim who has taken his beloved and her daughter to Italy for two weeks. It’s a perfect writer vacation — I’ve got three little dogs to take care of, two of whom need to go for a walk in the morning and in the evening. This morning we spent an hour meandering through the trails in the riverbottom through which all the birds in North America are migrating — the entire place is alive with the twitter of songbirds.
The MH was teasing me as I left because my suitcase was half-full of books, but this is a writing vacation — one in which I plan to re-acquaint myself with my neglected manuscript, get back in the habit of writing once more, and then sit on the porch amidst the lovely noise of falling water in Jim’s koi pond and read whole books — not just dip in and out of them, but actually finish a book or two. Lovely.