It’s a grey day. The clouds hang low and spit rain periodically. It’s about 13 degrees (57 Fahrenheit).

I can see the GAA pitch from my room. Little ones are on the field for practice. They seem to have hurley sticks but I can’t be sure.

One of the spare rooms was transformed into my dressing room. The bed is against the wall, like a day bed, and allows me to lounge back while gazing out of the window. My antique dressing table is adorned with faery lights. My prayer flags cross the ceiling and the Chinese lantern hangs in the center.

I’m sitting here now. Back against the wall of pillows, sipping green tea, “Spell of the Sensuous” open on my lap, and my eyes fixed toward the line of trees on the SW horizon. Lyric FM is on the radio. The wind sings through the window vent. The baby birds under the eave chirp softly.

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