It is like fishing of the air
Jan. 16th, 2014 03:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceGood grief, California: how is it exactly that I am supposed to get any work done in you, when you give me glorious days in the mid-seventies in the middle of January?
I know I'm supposed to frown fretfully at cloud-free skies and mutter about our dreadful need for rain - there are wildfires already, and this is supposed to be the wet season - but I love this too too much, so I'm trying to see if I can practise grumbling about it from another angle instead. Because I really do need to get back into regular writing habits, and really all I want to do is sit in the sun with a cooling beverage and gaze benignly on my bird-feeders and wait in hopes of a you know actual bird.
When I was a kid, my grandparents had a beach-house, a wooden bungalow on stilts built right on the actual beach, with a garage beside and an access-road behind. Not that the car ever went into the garage; there wasn't room. The garage was entirely full of boats, and the walls were hung with oars and nets and rods. And Grandad would take us out fishing, and I remember days of deep contentment on the water, with never a single fish ever caught ever. Which is kind of how it feels, when I sit outside and watch my bird-feeders. There are plenty of birds zooming to and fro, but not a one of them will take the bait; but hey. I'm only impatient in here. Out there, sitting in the sun with a cooling beverage, time can drift by as it wills, like a leaf on a stream, I don't care.
But if it's not really about feeding the birds, it's not getting any work done either. Maybe I should compromise, dig out more of the strawberry-bed...?
*shrugs*
I know I'm supposed to frown fretfully at cloud-free skies and mutter about our dreadful need for rain - there are wildfires already, and this is supposed to be the wet season - but I love this too too much, so I'm trying to see if I can practise grumbling about it from another angle instead. Because I really do need to get back into regular writing habits, and really all I want to do is sit in the sun with a cooling beverage and gaze benignly on my bird-feeders and wait in hopes of a you know actual bird.
When I was a kid, my grandparents had a beach-house, a wooden bungalow on stilts built right on the actual beach, with a garage beside and an access-road behind. Not that the car ever went into the garage; there wasn't room. The garage was entirely full of boats, and the walls were hung with oars and nets and rods. And Grandad would take us out fishing, and I remember days of deep contentment on the water, with never a single fish ever caught ever. Which is kind of how it feels, when I sit outside and watch my bird-feeders. There are plenty of birds zooming to and fro, but not a one of them will take the bait; but hey. I'm only impatient in here. Out there, sitting in the sun with a cooling beverage, time can drift by as it wills, like a leaf on a stream, I don't care.
But if it's not really about feeding the birds, it's not getting any work done either. Maybe I should compromise, dig out more of the strawberry-bed...?
*shrugs*