A window, sketchbook, guitar, and heavy heart.
The house empty of other humans, except me, so I'm taking this opportunity to do some songwriting. Other than the curious smell that's overtaking our house the past 24 hours (it smells like something died, which puts fear in me that something actually did die in our house. a mouse, perhaps? let's hope not...)
A sneakish peak. Often my songs start off as a sort of praying, just singing and playing, continuously, until they come together.