Before the four-legged, furry muse and I cowered in the bathtub hiding from tornadoes, a remarkable spate of writing was done yesterday. Like ribbons of pressed silk, the words flowed out of me in flawless order. It was a rare, rare moment indeed.
Then came the tub.
Followed by 8 ½ hours of no power.
Apparently, the silk worm charges a steep price.