I'm so quiet here, because everything is brimming now. The book, almost done. The illustrations too, are getting close. But also, a dozen other things, everything converging into this brief month: other deadlines, contests, and the new routine of school. It would be a lie to say that things feel easy.
Things, in fact, feel terribly fragile. My bedroom is a mess of unfolded clothes. There are cobwebs in the hallway. The garden has run wild. Bean lost a tooth. Sprout is a wild child, full of laughter and stubbornness, and hot headed Italian blood. The chicken coop needs cleaning. There are holes in my jeans. And still, still, I wouldn't change a thing.
Except to get more sleep.