A few weeks back, remember how I said I was going to be fussing about things that were not mine to talk about? I still am. With even less progress than I expected. Whenever something awful happens and someone says, "Well, there was nothing anyone could have done," it sounded like a weird platitude to me. Inevitability is supposed to be comfort? But as I am facing a whole mess of things someone (in the category "someone who is not me or anyone I have influence over; someone professional to the specific situation") could be doing, and I have the sinking feeling that I will be wishing someone could say, "Well, there's nothing anyone could have done."
Oh, good, M'ris: cryptic, yet depressing. Lovely. Well, how about this, then: birches, stands and stands of them, all yellow with yellow leaves underfoot for Ista and me to sniff and scuff. And there's a mountain ash up the road a ways, just so I can have the right smell of playing in the leaves in my childhood. Also I came home from our walk with notes for two projects dancing in my head, and that can hardly be bad, especially as I have written them down where they belong and can now ignore them while I do more immediate things.
