|The ultra-modern moth on the window sill.|
|My stepson found this in the yard and brought it to me. A jewel of a bird, but long dead.|
|I don't have words for this photo, but it deserves a few poetic ones.|
I'm a hoarder.
I mean, I have some clutter, a bit more than I'd like, but it's certainly not out of control. The hoarding that is an issue is the internal kind, the kind where I say yes to too many things, try to squeeze too many chores onto the To Do list, too many social engagements and appointments and projects onto the calendar, too many servings of delicious dishes from the buffet table of life onto my little plate, into my little belly. I feel stretched much of the time. Pleasures in too a great a number are not pleasures at all. This has got to change.
Even writing this blog post right now, eight minutes before I promised myself I'd be in bed, is too much. So I'm going to stop. Right this minute. Now.