A day when stirring up a spiced pear compote is as lovely and important a thing as writing another thousand words.
A day when musing over the character of a person you met and making mental remarks over him is as effective as casting him in a villainous role--which you plan to do later on.
A day when driving along rural, leaf-plastered roads in a thick mist is soul-food enough for a week.
A day when day-dreaming while crocheting a wash-cloth for an elderly person is as productive as sitting before your computer waiting for inspiration to come.
A day when whipping up a giant batch of chocolate chip cookies gives you enough courage and stamina and coziness to feel Dickensian again.
A day when French Vanilla coffee cures all the world's ills and reminds you of Fly Away Home... <3
A day when you're eight pages into a reply to a letter and still have much to say, and you're pleased as if you had just entered the last scene of your novel.
A day when you stop and look at the brilliant, glowing, half-frozen color of a six year old's cheeks and realize that "blush" is hardly the word to describe the living beauty of the color.
A day when you look at a pile of apple and pear peelings and marvel over the Creator's genius in coloring them such riotous hues of red and gold and green.