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raindrops on the terrace roof.
a special quality of light - summer light, even tho' it's cloudy.
it has a greenish cast to it, as the trees drink in the needed rain.
kittens racing around, tumbling.
a mug of steaming tea and a fresh, light bun slathered in butter.
a moment of quiet contentment. 
the day hasn't yet really begun.

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i need this moment. the days start to feel busy, rushing headlong into one another. as my calendar fills up. in a good way, as the projects are now of my own choosing. a photo class for kids at the library. helping shape a new school. writing about travel. editing a book. sharing a bit of my culture. being part of creating new surroundings for the culture where i live.
just being more solidly where i am.
and always time with a horse. it's the healthiest time. and the greatest gift you can give your child. because you can't fool a horse. it knows if you're scared. or if you're trusting. or if you're bluffing. they can just see right through to you. the real you. you can't hide from a horse.
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and as always, dreaming of what's next. a refuge in the garden. a long, narrow, rustic building, where the light floods in from windows along both sides. but a safe, dark cocoon in which to work at one end. and room for a long table. where we could have meetings, and not be ashamed to invite people from outside.

reshaping what an office means.

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i'm unused to a full calendar. and that means i mess things up sometimes. like yesterday, when we showed up for a wedding at 2 p.m. and found out it had started at 1 p.m. and all that was left at the church was the rice on the ground. i was very surprised and a little embarrassed. but i find myself laughing about it now.
if you throw a whole lot of balls up in the air, you're bound to drop a couple of them.
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