Fail. I am backblogged and missing writing, but demands of the last few days have left me cramped for time. That's one thing, but then today, to top it off, I found myself rushing. Rushing.
Later I stood at the edge of the barn, watching the horses settle into their candy mounds of hay for the night, sighing and snorting into the mist, pleased to be outdoors in the unexpected warmth. High above, the moon beamed in white robes and there came the whistle of the train, my train, the summer train, all of it conspiring to make me feel winter has gone.
This moment stopped me, but it was compressed into an essence that left me, like perfume, as soon as I moved, for the rushing.