On the patio. Sight, the visual itself, my partner in criminology– can’t wait for lunch when I can write. Need poetry, photography. Lots of it. Beautiful but going to be hot out here. Quite. Concern squelched now a qualm with the shift. Centered in my prose and believe it or not I need more coffee. Enjoying the quiet while it’s still here with me. Won’t live long I know but I can breathe so I’ll take it– think like Woolf, novels only.