Monday. Misty. Dramatic. A long awaited epilogue to a dragging and expensive drama. Not out of the woods yet. Just freed the feet from the clench of a painful trap.

Tuesday. Sunny. Peaceful. Warm. A day to breathe, to recover and to talk, talk and talk again. To recharge my batteries, to forget – as in totally – about the days before. A day that began with my Cli.MAX – see the photos!

Cli.MAX – the short photo story on CougarBunnies.com

As for the long one, here it goes in Photo Update 490 – Cli.MAX: 100 Juicy Close-Ups

Early in the morning, so early that the sun was still hiding, I get the first present on my birthday – woody moments that I’ve learned to cherish and cut short before the kids would wake, before I’ll make their tea and omelets.

After they left for school, I come upstairs for my second birthday present, not as imposing as the first yet more elaborate, more sophisticated and clearly speaking a tongue that I enjoy – the tongue that brings me to cli.Max in ways that seem like routine but never are.

He then says to me: “Don’t move, stay right there, I’ll bring the camera!”

Click click click!

Here you can see the moments, the juiciest angles, the closest peeks.

Wednesday. Optimistic. New plans. New team. New selfies.

Just a selfie. See my new earrings?

Thursday. I am wet. Finally a home-alone morning, noon and afternoon altogether.

I am wet. All over. Yes.

The new team works, fixes, repairs and completes in the evening hours. What’s left of sunsets.

As about the daylight, I make love, I take a hot bath, I pose out of it.

Pink hair towel wrap.

Then I wear a tight fancy dress for the decent photo shooting, to share with family and friends from the other side of the fence. Yet, seeing the camera, I can’t help myself.

Fragrance in fragments – even if it hurts, you’d better keep dancing.

Friday. Life seems to approach normality. The new team keeps coming the late afternoons. Things move in the right direction. Which is a good start. Another one.

Today. I finally publish a new blog post – short, fragmented. How about fragrance? I can’t actually describe it, that’s the reason for its companion word: fragmented. Because I still look at a shattered window, at the broken pieces of glass all around me.

The prominent scent of sawdust, mixed with the dust of old, still clogs my mind. I wish to break free and to write some more. Tomorrow, next week, in October.

Flowers, a late September, the early 50s.