it is a monsooned malabar morning

This morning a warm wind blusters through the freshly-leaved branches of the pecan tree, the young leaves flutter, the squash plants lift and sway, boxed about by the wind, the lacy branches of the tree near the shed bob about, the birds call, the wind wooshes, the air is scentless. A dull light suffuses the sky, gray and sunless.

It’s seven o’clock. I’ve got my coffee, Trader Joe’s Monsooned Malabar, a gift from my best friend, there are no TJ’s in Alabama. I plan to write as much as I can today. Tomorrow I’ve a plot meeting via FaceTime. A Fall of Diamonds has been at rest for the past week. I’ve got plot issues I hope to resolve during the meeting.

I’m very happy about my progress with A Haunting of Roses, writing 3,215 words this week, but I want to hit a higher benchmark.

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