In the seven days since I last posted, I’ve thought about a lot of things to write. Ultimately, however, I couldn’t get myself to write them out loud because a lot of what I was thinking felt too much like crying over milk that was spilled decades and decades ago. So I decided to just keep silent in the blog, though I have continued to do my morning journaling every day.

I don’t know what to write now—I’m so tired from an unexpectedly long day that included travelling to downtown DC for the first time since surgery—but I feel like if I don’t write something today, then it’ll be December and I’ll have wretchedly few days checked off on the calendar on which I’m tracking the days I’ve blogged.

I think maybe I’ll just leave you with this photo I took yesterday. What I love about it is how much personality the tulip has. I haven’t quite made up my mind if it’s leaning its head on the wall’s shoulder cause it’s lonely or tired or melancholy. Or maybe it just feels like flirting with the wall. Whatever it’s feeling, this image reads to me like everything I’d want to say in a poem if only this weren’t one of those days when words simply cost too much.