There’s a man on the corner
selling dozens of bones.
Every type of bone,
Except the one that I want.

~Biffy Clyro

Sitting at the open window….the silence underlain with a the song of leaves moving in the (rather forceable) summer wind…punctuated with chirps and the clinking clanking of Rosie’s tags as she leaps to attention anytime a bird shadow passes over her…This is my favorite song.

I am finally feeling some sense of peacefulness around our house…Routines reemerging. It took me aback when I realized just how important routines have become to me. Those long ago summer days spent smashing through strange vistas and mindsets, viewing routine as the enemy, as the embodiment of boredom, is in itself prescient…for if it wasn’t fundamental why spend so much energy opposing it?

In the aftermath the structure is the path home.