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Another sunny morning with likely afternoon rain. I see that yesterday's brand-new helper did some tidying that I did not request. As a result, things lost for months and just found yesterday are lost again. Why do people with poor judgment always think they have good judgment?

My to-read pile is down to 35 books. I'm currently reading Michael Reaves "the shattered world," a fantasy novel with an interesting take on the trope of "somebody almost destroyed the world long ago and now a hero going to have to pick up the pieces." In this case, the pieces are meant literally. The book is well-written and the characters are three-dimensional.



And now for something completely different…


On the back of the shelf
a succulent reclines
a few leaves peep up
I know the plant's alive
it must be frustrated.
In the struggle for existence
surely its ambition
was not to become an unregarded prisoner.

What do I know?
To a house plant, perhaps
life is simply to be lived.