I’m feeling cooped up. Not quite the blues but something akin to restlessness. I sort through stacks of books and make a pile to give away. I exercise but my heart is not in it. I accept this little spell of discontent and take a walk. I’m thinking about how much I love to photograph those things that are less than perfect. The pots on the porch with no plants inside. The roof lines mismatched. Little things that sit two-by-two make me feel happy. It’s this darn productivity culture we live in that drags me down as though I’m failing in some way by not staying busy all the time.