Wheat of Shadow

I actually got some sleep last night, though it was in that weird cycle of endlessly recurring wakings. However, since I went back to sleep, it didn't matter, so huzzah. As a result, I felt remarkably chipper and as if all things were possible. Probably most of my whining and moaning about the miseries of being old is really about the miseries of not sleeping, and would decrease significantly if I slept every night.

I didn't really get a lot done, because I was working on projects that required sitting still. Irish came back and finished putting the porch back together, so huzzah to that, too. I was just about ready to go out for a walk, when the predicted thunderstorm began to loom ominously. Then it rained, hailed, thundered and rained some more until it got dark. So, no walk, but I did make chicken salad from the last of the chicken, and created a large pot of soup from the broth I made. Then the Sparrowhawk made stir fry for dinner, and I cleaned up the kitchen which was a bit of a project because quite a few pans were used.

Just now, in the damp, dripping darkness, the screech owl is calling.