Creeping Time -or- The Flush of the Butterflies

I had this whole spiel laid out. It was beautiful. Really.

There were old English gardens, creeping thyme, glass hummingbird feeders and cobblestone walkways. Ridding the pale ivory roses of aphids, trimming the boxwoods back into fanciful creatures, hanging silver wind-chimes to fragrance the wind with song, all of this was at the tip of my tongue. Alas, my charming analogy of first and second drafts being phases in tending a walled garden was not to be, however.

“Why?” the brave might ask.

My computer had to update its tedious little self.

It had to update itself a lot.

Fifty freaking minutes of updating that sucked all life out of this post’s busy little bees and fluttering butterflies.

Yep, one analogy flushed down the loo.

Feel free to extend the same courtesy to this post.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe