A Confused Bunny

 

Usually there is a group of three or four bunnies grazing under the bird feeders just after sundown but today this confused bunny was out there in broad daylight.  It had its back to me so I couldn't see if it was confused or just couldn't tell time.  (don't ask me what that has to do with anything, it just popped into my head and squirted out my fingertips)


ACJ and I met this afternoon at The Attic and mostly talked through what I need to write to get that hole in The Seaview filled before I take it to the Writers' Institute conference in Madison FOUR WEEKS FROM TOMORROW.  (What?  No, I'm not freaking out.  Why do you ask?)  I managed to write a couple paragraphs but had forgotten to take my Kindle in so I couldn't put in earbuds and play the "time to write" nature sounds so my writing brain barely turned on.  Must be the cold weather.

While waiting for time to go to DePere to the First United Presbyterian Church's monthly community supper (build-your-own loaded baked potatoes and mac-and-cheese) I knitted a few rounds on the brioche cowl.  I also spotted a boo boo about six rounds back.  I keep looking at it and think I might be able to drop stitches down, fix the mistake, and then hook the stitches back up but know that way lies madness.  I'm calling it a "design element" and keeping going.



After I got home I went downstairs, found the right size remnant of swimsuit lining fabric, brought it up, and got the last piece of my experimental swimsuit cut out.  Now I won't be able to sew it up until next week at the earliest and should probably back burner it until I've got more of that pesky novel chapter written.  We shall see how good I am at resisting the temptation to sew on it.

6 March--Tropical Obsession. 

Like parti-colored Easter eggs, the kokolishi shells were piled in crevices and depressions in the shoreline rocks, winking in the sun. Waves pushed at them, tugged them back like dice rattling in a cup, rearranged them like rune stones readying for a reading. Diego sat hunched on the wet rock not caring when the waves slurped at his legs and hips, not giving in to the cool promise of the water but glaring at the small colorful shells tumbling in their rocky captivity. The shells gave the impression that their colors were fake. They glowed pink, yellow, navy, and white in the frame of black rock like art glass in a display. The blaring sun overhead did duty as spotlight as with each passing wave the shells tumbled and preened. Diego had come to this isolated beach to escape prying eyes, to avoid the meeting he knew must happen, to postpone the moment when past indiscretions collided with present entanglement.

Do you know that the dreaded Daylight Savings Time rears its ugly head on Sunday?   It's true, we spring forward losing a precious hour of sleep.  Gah!  I know I rant about this twice a year but I absolutely detest DST.  Whoever thinks that lopping an hour off one end of the day and tacking it onto the other end makes more daylight is a fool.  There, I said it, a damned fool.  Plus everybody is owly for at least a day from the time change.  I know I'm hollering down a rat hole but I can't help myself.  Rant over... for now.  *pant, pant*
--Barbara