Loglines/writing break, waiting for the refrigerator repair person to arrive between now and 4 hours from now, recovering from the debilitating cold the teen had last week, took the puppy on a brief walk to the pond, where we quietly viewed cormorants (I sometimes mix them up with loons) balanced on a platform thing floating in the water.

I don’t know why the cormorants are here and not the ocean, Ventura’s beaches, or Santa Barbara’s, where their kin thrive. There’s only teeny tiny fish in our pond. Turtles. Certainly a reliable midday peace, still…

Whatever the reason, I appreciate their presence here in the mountains.

Hello, February! Old birthday month, part nemesis, part thrill.

Let’s get on with it.

Yours in aging gracefully,


About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, grateful. Fiction, memoir, poetry, kidlit (MG), member SCBWI.
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