June she'll change her tune.

I have been painting.

The grey, cottony ceiling of the gloomy sky today was welcome to me. The chill was welcome. I didn't long for sunrays, as I sometimes do. When it's grey like that, you don't mark the passing of the hours so clearly. You don't pay attention. There is no telltale rose-tinged sunset hue to foretell the coming of night. The night just comes, and it's upon you all of a sudden. And you've had the lights on all day anyway.

I let the art supply store inspire me today. I let myself have dreams and plans of the showing off of skills still out of my reach. But I did not fear reaching for them. I longed for it. I can only be pleased when I am set off in a day when I feel like making a great, greedy lunge at my future and whatever ambitions attract me. It's like being set on fire with the only hope of dousing it a palpable handful of something to be proud of. Sure, it slips through your fingers quickly, but while you're grasping, it has emollient properties.

In restless walks, she'll prowl the night.