It's Saturday Morning, and here I sit on my couch, feet well supported and coffee mug in hand. The lawn ripe with an unmowable case of the "wets" and the deadline of a final project looming in some dark corner of my groggy mind.
I have dreamt of barley-water and rain. I have devised a new device for the sparge. I have under-slept.
The 12 lbs of various grains crouch, hidden and beckon me from across the room to take them for a summery hot swim. But first, I must travel to the far off land known as Woburn for a coil of cuprous and a tin of gas for to fill the charge and charge the fill.
Alas, the list returns with the fury of a banshee. I will not succumb. I must not succumb.
Today, I will brew. After all, it is National Homebrew Day. And then, and only then, shall the world return and cast its fire-shawl on the flames of creation, and extinguish those dreams of barley-water and rain. And thus, shall the grasses be dried and the deadlines be met.