NaBloPoMo - Day 7

Lather
Rinse
Repeat

I stepped int he shower this morning.
Shampooed like I do every day.
I reached for the lavender castille soap.
Squirted some into my hand.
And yup …. rubbed it right into my already clean hair.

I suppose castille soap is as good for your hair as it is your body.
But really?
Is this the way the day is going to go?

Perhaps I should crawl back into bed.


I worked on my vision board until I heard the train was leaving for town.
I didn't really NEED to go, but wanted to check out a few places the other women found delightful.
First stop Mercier Apple Orchard.  Think apples, apple fritters, apple pies, apple butter, apple cider, apple stationery, apple decorations and just about anything else apple you can think of.
Then Joe's BBQ.
Then Owl's Loft.
Then the farmer's market for pickles.
Then the Olive Oil store.
Then back to the orchard.

I was ready to for a nap.
When I got home Sweet Diane had glued my vision board.
How cool is that?
It is not so much visioning as a list of words that will hopefully kickstart a regular writing routine.

Later ….
I saw the coolest thing this evening. The sun was beginning to set, but a few rays lit up the leaves making them appear holy. All of a sudden there were crows everywhere. They filled the tree right outside the porch. They were squawking up a storm. It wasn't the normal sound you'd associate with a crow, so maybe they weren't crows at all.  It was for sure a black bird convention. Suddenly, as if someone in charge had blown a whistle, all the birds lifted from their branches and flew en masse to some trees on the other side of road. For about 2 seconds, not long enough to even focus a camera, the sky was covered in a black cloud. Think the bees trailing after Winnie the Pooh, only theses were birds not bees.  After some more hovering and tree jumping and chattering up a storm, the silent signal was given. The birds rose again and headed to another tree out of sight. I couldn't help but wonder what they were saying to one another. Wish I could have gotten a picture.

Still later ….

What do writers do after a few glasses of wine, on the last night of their retreat and the moon is full? They have a bonfire, roast the biggest marshmallows you've every seen, tell stories, dance around the fire playing percussion instruments and howl at the moon. I think each of us had a howl in us that needed to be released. It's pretty freeing, actually. As I write, there is hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps being made.

All that's left to do is empty the fridge, wash the dishes, pack the car and head south. Like all retreats, this one must end. A retreat wouldn't really be a retreat if it lasted all the time, would it?

It's good to get away for a spell.  It can be restful and tiring at the same time.  It's particularly good for me, because I think my world has narrowed so much. When did I stop socializing? When did it become easier to stay home instead of go out? When did I stop doing things that gave me something to talk about? When did I stop dancing? Maybe the better question is why?

Merry ME