Spring schming

[desperance]

It's very bright and clear out there, although the breeze is chill. The cattle are out on the moor again, and all the trees are breaking abruptly into leaf, as though a whisper had passed northward overnight, rumours of cherry-blossom and catkins coming.

Also, I have finished my book.

Also, I am Unaccountably Depressed.

Or perhaps it's not Unaccountable. I did hear a rumour that someone had posted once somewhere on the internets, a vague notion that one or perhaps two people might reach the end of a project and find themselves consequently, subsequently depressed. If so, if I didn't dream that? Perhaps I'm the twoth.

Anyway, there it is. Here it is. The whole shebang, night terrors and all sorts. I do not know how to deal. Wine tonight, I guess, and curry and a movie or two. Does anyone have any opinion of Chow Yun Fat's Confucius?

In other news, I can't remember what the other news is. Something better, I think. Barry likes the sunshine. Mac has gone to bed (in his own bed, which is furry and snugglesome and back in favour).

Now I shall bake the sourdough seasonal buns sans insignia. If they're any good, I might let you know later.