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I have been writing most of today. And what do I want to do now? Actually write. I get that information is shared via the write it-read it exchange, but there is only so much one can say about stimulating the jejunal absorption of glucose and I convinced myself not to "cut and paste" what I've been working on for the sake of saving some time. After all, there's a time for everything. I promise to pull a trick and chop out something weird from the files soon. It feels great to even write the word weird. Can't use that in science writing with high acceptance, I suppose. I just want to write like a little girl

sometimes. Like a book report. On grasshoppers. If the book I chose to read actually had grasshoppers in it, that would also be...brilliant. For these few minutes, this writing is just serving me, it feels like play. And anyone who is reading this, I apologize. But not whole-heartedly because I think it lends to the idea that our heart desperately wants to create.

And even after a modestly long day, I think we all have that in us.

Below, a quick shot from a really big garden in Huntington. No grasshoppers, but it was still more lovely than I can describe. We all need (more than) a little green.


A Time For Everything