Most mornings, I go onto the porch to sit and sip my coffee and listen to the birds. It’s my way of easing into the day, like warming up the engine of a car before you drive it. From where I sit, I have a clear view of the yard, the garden, and the pond beyond. There are times when the morning starts out clear, then a fog drifts in, the scene before me obscured by a cloudy haze in a matter of moments. That’s sort of how I felt as I wrote the last chapter of the novel I’ve been working on for ages. Things were a bit murky.
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