January 18, 2021

Considerable flocks of robins heading north in their ragged clumps under the gray morning sky. Fairly even blanket of snow. I walk out in the morning with my bonics to see who’s abroad: mostly titmice and sparrows, the fluttering robins high up. My catastrophic text slows things down at Sublime Press. I write past 50000 words on DSLLD. The contest I want to enter  on the last day of January, with it specifies 60,000. Realize I dream new plot lines, wake up ready to implement them.