I was not myself.
So who do you think you are then?
Whatever it was, was trying to tell me to do things, not exactly for any reasons but just to see if such acts were possible.
Motives were not necessary.
It was only necessary to give in.
The birds began to stir, and then to sing, as if each of them had thought of it separately, up there in the trees. They woke far earlier than I would have thought possilbe.
It happens a lot.
All text by Alice Munro from Dear Life collection of short stories
All images from 2010 file on one of our trips to Alaska to visit the grand children. (the completed piece is here)
Just because this is how I feel today.
I am not myself.
And I just found out that Alice Munro and I have the same birth day and I am enjoying this book quite a bit and my hard drive is plugged in and it's spring. xo.