Seeds

Here it is Sunday again; the weekend passes too quickly, and tomorrow I’ll need to head back to the office, along with so many others. My mind on Paris and a character; masks and scissors, and presentations, and perhaps a nightcap before bed.

We had a movie, but didn’t watch it. We made our movie, lived it instead. And C was fooling around with words and I was fooling around with photos, crayons, paper, and piano. C finished two pieces; I have "creative stew" which may or may not come to anything.

But today was warm, in the 50s, and sunny and we walked, a long walk through the neighborhoods of waiting houses, as people pulled up to the curbs, bearing chips and dip and beer for various Super Bowl parties.

C and I had our own party, and gathered seeds of ideas through music, conversation, books, the internet—which may or may not come to anything.

But just as a plant waiting for spring, we try, and hope for the best.

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If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow and which will not,
Speak then to me.
– William Shakespeare