Thinking I’ll open a little bit of Chardonnay, instead of my usual commencement IPA. The rain, overhead. Lovely, the town of Monterey, Carmel, all the wine down there. However, I’m relieved to be back in this chair, my base, at these keys. Poetry, still spearheading my Literary movements. Thinking of going for a walk in this rainfall, but then I’d be away from the keys. Maybe that’s what I need. Feels odd being in this office. Why is that? Is this how winemakers feel when back in the lab after a long-warranted vacation? Feeling like a fighter, absent from the ring’s reality for a considerable stretch. Needing my panacea of a character...Where is she?
Rain leaps at me. Writing starts. Then stops.