So often is the virgin sheet of paper more real than what one has to say, and so often one regrets having marred it ~ Harold Acton, Memoirs of an Aesthete, 1948
I wouldn't feel real or honest if I wrote right now.
And so... Here are some pics from my mellow, sweet beach birthday on Saturday...
It's all I have right now. I'll write soon, I promise.
I just need to find a few words... I forget where I left them.
Perhaps somewhere in Connecticut.