Do you ever have a day like this –
when you get up late, breakfast late, lounge about doing not much, remain in your nightclothes far into the day with a feeling of delighted, shameful langour, do a puzzle, write a few things, eat irregular meals (by which I mean snack on one thing and then supplement it nutritionally with something marginally better but by no means regular) and finally give over to reading most of a book with the blanket pulled up over your feet so they don’t get cold (even though it’s a fine, hot, sunny day outside)?
I’ve been running lately. There hasn’t been much pause and today presented itself as an open block with so many tasks waiting in their neat lines. And none of that has happened and instead all the foregoing.
And you know what else?
A kind of scent of music –
a charged feeling around the piano –
a going to it without much conscious thought –
and then: not one but TWO new songs come tumbling out, incomplete but compelling in mood and surprising in their novelty.
Open space.
Lolling about.
When She sees you’ve stopped whirling,
the Muse comes to call.
PS – Pictured is E. M. Delafield who wrote the book I read today in one indulgent gulp: Diary of a Provincial Lady. I was so engrossed that I actually *heard* myself laugh out loud!
