notepad 17
The Birds Are Chirping on a Crisp Winter Morning
Coffee and toast on a Saturday morning. It’s snowing outside so there’s nothing to do but stay in and write. I mean, there could be something to do out there, but it’s too cold for that, Spring is only four months away at this point anyway.
The cat is sitting in her chair. There’s a plaid blanket folded nicely atop the grey recliner with a cat toy composed of a stick, string, and plush chirping bird tucked underneath so that the bird is dangling off the back. Most days she ignores the bird, but other days it’s blank stare must look at her funny because she’ll attack it with more fury than I put into my morning workouts.
I skipped leg day this week and I’m not proud of it.
