I wake up this morning with my mind alive and worried about everything–tasks that I forgot to write down last night, loose-end issues I can’t deal with until the work week, the important small-business nuts and bolts I’ve been trying to take care of, the ever-present question of how I turn my pottery into a living, and, dare I say?, uncharitable thoughts about a couple of people I’ve had to deal with this week (none of you, dear readers, none of you).
Add to that the fact that I’m a serious hot-weather weakling, and our air-conditioned and ceiling-fanned bedroom already felt like it was 110°. Autumn, come quickly.
I drag my sorry self to chores, one being to water the plants on the balcony, a joy in any weather but this. Outside, it is 208° already. But look what is there to greet me!
The deepest-purple, most velvety magenta-streaked white-throated little morning glory.
“The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hill-side’s dew-pearl’d;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His heaven–
All’s right with the world!”
It’s going to be a hard week of hard work leading up to next weekend’s show, but I can do it (with help), and it will be worth it.