Currently difficult to impossible to fathom where the time is going, has gone. October nearly vanished, we are actually moving into the hyper-acceleration months of November and December, when Thanksgiving and Christmas bleed into one and my son turns 3. Another year zipping by! And so I have posted a picture of moss. Neon posing, gorgeously clingy, moss is—no, of course I’m not going to continue. However, when T I M E P A S S I N G impedes sanity, staring at moss calms these Final Quarter Of The Year repeated self-questions: Didn’t I just give birth? Wasn’t it only yesterday that I “finished” my children’s novel? I’m how old now and how many years younger is that than J.K. Rowling (and Madonna) and how many years older than Stephanie Meyer (and Lady GaGa)? ???
Look at it—M O S S. A combination of Riverish and Stuck. Rock Thought (manifested). What a Muse sweats. No, of course I’m not going to continue. Am returning to goals 1 and 2 before my son is 16 and asking me for the car keys and even the prehistoric moss is dead.