I always imagine I will use a fresh notebook for my best thoughts. In reality, it becomes useful much sooner and in messier ways.

That turns out to be enough. A notebook does not need to become an archive. It only needs to catch the thought before it slips away.

Everything sharpens after a light shower: the crosswalk paint, the leaves stuck to the curb, the bakery sign that usually disappears into the block.

I took the long way home for no reason other than the street looked newly washed. That was reason enough.

Last week felt like six weeks compressed into five days. I spent most of it answering things, moving things, and promising myself I would slow down later. Today was the later I had in mind.

Breakfast took an hour. I opened the windows even though it was still cold. I put the phone on the bookshelf and left it there long enough to hear the apartment settle down.