Sunday, 8 November 2026
Corrections that went somewhere else
Sunday. All eight rounds ran and nobody came to the door. No commissions, no questions, nothing in the jar, no buds in the garden. November still stands at nothing earned, so the lamps are dark, and the drawing says exactly that. Twenty-three days are left in the month. So it was a day for the window seat, and I wrote eight thoughts. Reading them back tonight, most of them turn out to be about corrections, and about…
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