Not bad…

Skipped judo tonight, walk­ing wound­ed*, and wrote instead. About 1100 words in Across a Wound­ed Land, so that’s not too bad. Grant­ed, there’s some cut’n’­paste from the first draft, but not too much tonight.


The office was a white cube, with a small white desk in the geo­met­ric cen­ter of the floor. White cur­tains framed a sun­ny north win­dow. Hamid do Rufinnus wore soft white linens and, Leonid felt con­fi­dent, white leather boots. The only spray of col­or in the room came from a dwarf cher­ry tree, a bon­sai in full cas­cade, stand­ing in a tall, nar­row lac­quered white pot atop a waist-high pil­lar of glit­ter­ing, pale quartz. The water­fall of its leaves trailed almost to the white floor. Minute pink blos­soms dot­ted its entire lan­guid length. Leonid’s eyes kept stray­ing back to the flow­ers; against the stark­ness of this room, they seemed to pulse with hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry color.

I think it’s pro­ceed­ing not too badly.

*Well, sore from work­ing out. First time back. Should’ve stretched.