Must Be Diving Season

Because I had a steady stream of customers yesterday, so steady that I barely got my Icelandic Unoriginal Hat done by closing time.  And I only had about 10 more rounds left.  I like how it turned out, though this picture's colors are wrong, too bright.  This may just be my go-to hat pattern or one of them anyway.

Can you see the tiny green sprout of what I think is a nasturtium under that leaf there to the right of center?  I'm keeping an eye on it, hope it's from a seed I planted.  I'm tired of weeds.

It's another gray, foggy, dreary day.  I may spend it lying under the full-spectrum lights in one room or another.  Let me just say that I am heartily sick of overcast skies.  That is all.

June 24--Edward Hopper, Barn and Silo, Vermont.  The barn had stood for fifty years.  It leaned away from the north wind, resting its corner on the stone silo that had been its lifelong companion.  No livestock had been stabled there for a decade.  Mice, pigeons, and the occasional drifter were the only creatures that bedded down in its dark corners.  Katy and Carl drove by on their way to pick blueberries each summer.  Every time they passed Katy insisted Carl pull over and let her out to take pictures of the barn.  Spring, summer, fall--Katy made excuses to drive that way, excuses to stop and walk up the overgrown driveway and poke her nose into the barn just to see what was left inside.

This isn't much but it's all I've got today.  I hope the sun is shining where you are.  Send it this way, will you?  Thanks.

--Barbara