Who knew that 2021 would be a continuation of 2020? One strange event after another. A couple of weeks ago we had a freak April snowstorm in Fort Collins that played thunder with our trees. It was a heavy snow that coated limbs until they broke under the strain.
Above is a photo of the old apple tree in the yard at St. Luke's Episcopal Church. The trunk was neatly split into four equal pieces. There's no salvaging that kind of destruction. The whole tree was carted away.
After reading recent posts in Type M, I was struck by the wary tone of my blogmates.
One of the most consistent complaints I've heard about 2020 is everything slowed down creatively. It took forever to produce a page, a paragraph, or even a simple sentence.
One of my biggest self-disappointments is a feeling that I wasted last year. I could have reorganized my paperwork, or produced short stories, or sewn up all my fabric. Instead I read and read and read, and binged on a lot of worthless TV.
Some of my friends came out in fabulous physical shape. They walked and exercised and became healthier. I could have done that.
Could have, would have, should have. If 2021 is going to be more of the same, this time I will get my act together.
