I'm supposed to be writing a novel this month. I've only written 10 pages. Productivity - or maybe I mean quantity? - is not my strong suit. It's a good lesson for me to practice writing without editing myself as I go. That's not easy for me.
I'm happy to be home in the Yukon (especially to be with the big-eared dog) though the darkness is pulling down around my ears a little early this year. November.
Here is the view upwards as I stood in line outside the Centre Pompidou, waiting for my modern art fix:
It seems a long time ago, now.
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