in his little rocking chair and toys all around him. The energy and language, principle play of the kids teaches me about business and growth. About how to get to the office, my office…. Quarantine, incubation, seeing each day as a first but still connected to those preceding.
Henry watching his sister, observing. Learning. Me trying to wake, waiting for the coffee to hold me and carry me, shove me to production.
Looking for one of my journals, then I remember I put it in the drawer to my right. Still not used to having an actual desk at which to work.
They’re not concerned with anything but playing. That shape of thinking and momentum of mind… what I take from today, this morning. I’ve seen it before, but not like this. Not with this intensity and closeness.
Nothing to write beyond that, and I don’t want to take everything from that direction, with the kids, exhaust it too quickly.
Opened another Cabernet last night, this one with a very distinct and impassioned layer to its approach and speech. No conclusion or finish. Was ghostly, like a ghostly femme that didn’t want to leave.
Henry starts to talk a bit more and Emma says she’s going upstairs. “That’s not nice…” I say, laughing.