Familiar Patterns

I used to be so much more bold in the ways I used words, able to write for hours at a time.  There was a reckless way about it.

Now I write in small bits and then sit and think and notice all the birds that are singing and how warm the sun feels on my body.

I like to think about patterns; visual, musical, behavioral.  I like to ponder how recognizing and creating patterns is at the root of all thinking.

Yesterday, I dreamed up a squirrel with a mutation that makes him attracted to empty nut shells, so he only gnaws at the shells other squirrels have discarded.  He dies before he has offspring.

I like to notice how logical thought dissolves as I fall asleep.  I like to get as close to that moment as possible.  I like to have "I am falling asleep" as my last conscience thought of the day.

I like finding things I've lost.

It strikes me for the very first time that to decorate means to add patterns, whether patterns of lines made by streamers or of shapes by balloons or colors made by flowers.