Had a terrible time waking up this morning. Picked Misty up from the vets. She is only slightly less bouncy than her usual self. But she was pretty eager to find her cushions on the couch and settle down for another snooze.
I'm watching the bluejays taking turns at the feeders. There are also juncos, chickadees, nuthatches and downy woodpeckers.
As I look at the changing play of sun and shadow across the snow, I'm struck by a feeling of great love for this world.
What a sick mind Freud had. It's too bad he was such a brilliant and persuasive word-smith. Imagine where the impulse to say this might come from:
Love cannot be much stronger than the lust to kill.
To touch is the beginning of every act of possession, of every attempt
to make use of a person or thing.