River Brown

I’m scooched over to the side of the little vanity that serves as my writing desk.  A folder full of applications to the Summer Intensive Institute has collected where I usually write.  And there’s a bag to order custom liners for the compost bin…Ugh.

For the month of March, I’d just walk into my room as soon as it was polite after greeting my mom, and already have a free flow of what to write about.

I miss my daily routine.  It has been filled with more talk with mom on the front porch swing because it is warmer — and my garden looks great.

Today I was handing out notes to go home to parents whose children are Honor Authors, representing our school at the county young author’s fair, when, in C Pod, my Dance Fairy was sitting in the pod hallway.  She handed me a flyer saying, “You’ve got to come to this,” in her lovely Australian accent.  We exchanged little bits for a moment.

Then I leaned in.  “Do you know, Ria, what it’s like when you’re doing a choreographed salsa rueda and the music is really fast?  She nodded.  “The music is going and there is so much happening in that little space of time.  That’s what coordinating three programs at once feels like.”

She laughed.  I felt better.

It’s almost midnight in New York.

Hello, desk.  Cute little place I like.  Even Mickey has chosen to join me here, gracing the corner of the desk with his immense black and white cat body.  All dignified, sitting listening to the the clickety click of my keyboard.  The night getting quiet.

Thinking night thoughts.

I’ll be back desk.  I promise.