the night away

What could possibly be a suitable follow-up to the last riveting post? I finished my knitted scowl and threw some more paint on the bicycle tree (getting more in my hair). Library's doing renovation, so they nixed installing my book piece there- I'll have to book some other window. I went to the opening at the Arkell Museum in Canajoharie tonight, where my painting was in a group show. As suspected, it was a mild event, but I enjoyed walking through the museum with my mother and seeing some Winslow Homer paintings, then a stumble around the adjacent library clutching a cup of wine and a fistful of cookies. Sure enough, while walking down the street huddled under an umbrella we heard horses clip-clopping behind us, jingling their harnesses and pulling a wagon full of people wincing in the drizzle. "We can't call it a night; it's only 6:30," I declared, before gaily breaking into a chorus of "Winter Wonderland". So on the way back we stopped in Sharon Springs at the grand American Hotel and settled into a couple of cozy chairs before the fireplace, amid twinkling lights, for drinks and a bite. "Now we can call it a night," I proclaimed with a yawn, though it was only 8:30. I was looking forward to going to sleep again, as if sleep is a place I step out of and return to- and as the nights grow as long as they'll be all year, it practically is.