Yesterday the closest I got to the Canadian Grand Prix race was driving by Scarborough Downs racetrack. Unfocused. Later the race announcers jabbered on television from a distance of an adjacent room. The drizzle of the afternoon accompanied my run. The rain gear needs more silicone work.
Today the calendar shows the airplane of the day, more drizzle, and raw damp.
Consecrate your own shrine. That's a bossy voice that accompanied the writing this morning, like someone with hands on hips, challenging impatiently, "C'mon, get on with it." Like thunder with lightning.
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