Ann's home, my boss has the flu so I'm washing my hands every thirty seconds, Don's off work too and baking will ensue tomorrow as soon as mitten class concludes. Mmmm, cookie baking and party mix making. Sorry, yarn, it's kitchen time.
Manning sat with his back against a boulder, black binoculars held to his eyes. His elbows rested on his bent knees. He was motionless, his gaze focused on the horizon. With his hair bleached pale blond by sun and salt water, his khaki shirt and shorts, and his tropical tan he looked like a part of the landscape. He had arrived in the cool pre-dawn picking a sentinel spot that would give him a little protection from the midday sun. As the sun rose, so did the wind, swirling the sea into a white blur on the shoreline rocks and sending a cooling spray over him that sparkled in the light. As the day aged toward noon, the surface of the ocean, flat at dawn, wrinkled and crumpled into chop and then whitecaps. Five-foot waves exploded in geysers as they met the coast, finally convincing him that no rendezvous would happen that day.
A few more days and all will be back to normal--except for the trees in our living rooms.
--Barbara
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