He tells me he needs to fire the gardener. Says maybe it's time I learn how to prune the roses myself. You google climate zones of Kenya and consider Karen Blixen's lilies and lovers. You itch to book a ticket.
But then, that is all you do nowadays. Itch, book tickets, revel. The new book is coming along wonderfully, November always was a dreamy month to write a novel after all. My muscles ache from long runs, my head spins with new ideas, my heart simmers with peace. For one brief, wondrous moment on earth, we are in balance.
You hold on tight, dig in deep. Book a ticket, as long as it will let you.
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