I set up our little tree yesterday and, by late afternoon, did manage to get lights onto it, though no ornaments yet. Still, even in half-baked splendor it's a cheerful sight in the living room corner. Nothing says early December like tree lights, a wood fire, and the fragrance of slow-cooking stew. 

Today I'll return to editing, then finish up the housework and fill in around the edges with this-and-that obligations. I'll get onto my mat, get outside for a walk, read my book, be plain and unspectacular, be dreamy and inefficient, be whatever happens.

The hours unroll. Juncos skip and peck among the fallen leaves. Far above them a posse of gulls wheels in the restless sky.