While I looked out the window.

And studied the rainbow.

And thought about rainbows and the myths and science about them.

And admired its beauty.

While sleep was still being chased away.

And thoughts frolicked with dream remnants.

And the day’s planned activities opened in my mind like a hand of cards.

And I thought about making the first cup of coffee.

While I thought about what I was going to do today.

And what I needed to do.

I turned to my computer, and opened my file.

The file of the section of the novel in progress I’m working on.

And I typed.

A hundred words.

Five hundred.

One thousand.

Twelve hundred.

Fifteen hundred.

Then the scene was done.

And I reviewed what I’d written.

And closed the file.

And while I thought about what I’d just written.

And what was to be written.

And what it meant for what was already written.

I went to make my morning coffee.


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