Right now, life is running in a pretty small circle. Write daily target of 1600 words, flail helplessly in paperwork for an hour, cook, eat, stare at a wall for an hour, sleep.
Weekends are mostly recovery from above routine, but I'm determined this year come hell or high water to Walk a couple of hours every weekend - up a hill, along a beach, anywhere, just somewhere out of the effing city that drives me nuts all week.
I take my camera and make a lot of pictures of puddles and leaves and lichens. Tres therapeutique. Last weekend, though, I found something a little disturbing.
First, walking in a forest, I came across a grove full of smokin' hot beeches.
They're obviously bumping and grinding. Look at the sweat running down their backs.
One couple were really getting into it.
On the other side of the ditch, however, they'd abandoned dancing altogether and gone straight for some hot stump action.
I hardly knew where to look.
But there was a happy ending. Afterwards, they shared a very tender kiss, bark-to-bark.
Okay, now I've amused myself by perving over a hedge, time to go and write more about urban hipsters fucking every which way but loose.