I’m making pitifully slow progress on my house-cleaning but it’s almost done and I hope to have it finished in time to start a daily quick whistle round on Monday. There’s nothing truly to account for my state except to describe it as an attack of the lethargies. The spirit is willing but the flesh is reluctant. So reluctant it’s painful to contemplate.
I have come to enjoy sitting in my chair far too much. And to keeping the house too quiet. Dolly and I seem to snooze and idle our way through the days in a comfortable little reverie, deep in our own thoughts. Except, on review, I don’t seem to be thinking about much of anything at all.
Ah well, idle hands, empty head. Not the best of times for good journal.
under heavy skies
late season spiders
spin lazy webs