Last night I wrote 3 letters from my writing hut. One to the neighbor who left the excellent electric typewriter on my porch last year and 2 to friends who've been wondering when the heck I would have a space of my own in this lifetime. I'm using a typewriter in there until I decide which species of computer to think about buying. I also do not have the place wired properly yet, so I don't want to overload the extra thick outdoor extension cord. Anyway, I turned on the heater before supper and was welcomed by a warm room, table and small chair surrounded by books. I'm arranging the books in author order by genre, and that takes time.
I started reading Ed Hirsch's Wild Gratitude and got so inspired I had to stop to begin a poem.