Beatrice Wolfe

Windfall

Doris reached out to the pile of notebooks on the scarred top of her old oak desk and selected the small black book that lay on top. She knew it was old-fashioned of her to still make notes by hand, but she had always loved the act of setting her thoughts down on paper, the feel of the pen in her hand, the flow of the ink, the words emerging across the page in her slanted and slightly untidy script. She had one notebook to track the seasons and the weather; another to record gardening ideas (if you could call tending the row of pots on her balcony during summer gardening); and one for ideas and inspirations for minor home improvements, including potential expenses that needed research and careful thought before taking action.