The seemingly endless horizon of two months off will of course be over before I know it. I have plans to accomplish things around the house in amongst some road-tripping and my first international jaunt since before Covid, but when one is approaching 60, two months is more like two days. Everything is relative. Currently I'm drinking mushroom coffee and listening to Eivør Pálsdóttir while the cats lounge on top of various places cats aren't supposed to be. The chickens are complaining about something outside. The room needs vacuuming. Things need cleaning.
I leave you with a photo of the wall we tagged at work, a wall slated to be removed as the site is renovated.
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