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Between the pandemic and the winter, there have been far too many good reasons to not leave the house, and I realized that I probably hadn't been outside for weeks.
I've also been having trouble focusing on reading, and was struggling with starting any new books.
So I grumpily decided to make myself go outside and stay there for a minimum of five minutes. I didn't have to do anything out there, but by god if I was going to do nothing I would insist that I did nothing outdoors.
And I had started reading a book of poetry, because I reasoned that if I was struggling with attention span, something made up of small discrete chunks might be easier for my brain to digest.
Which is how I ended up in the yard by the bird feeder reading Maya Angelou out loud to a bunch of confused and suspicious chickadees.
I've also been having trouble focusing on reading, and was struggling with starting any new books.
So I grumpily decided to make myself go outside and stay there for a minimum of five minutes. I didn't have to do anything out there, but by god if I was going to do nothing I would insist that I did nothing outdoors.
And I had started reading a book of poetry, because I reasoned that if I was struggling with attention span, something made up of small discrete chunks might be easier for my brain to digest.
Which is how I ended up in the yard by the bird feeder reading Maya Angelou out loud to a bunch of confused and suspicious chickadees.
