Now that the voice tracks are laid ( pesky buggers) the slow grind of the wheel moves. My head is filled with mapping out an upcoming scene, to the “suck suck suck” of my wife’s breast pump. I start crossing over in the sound becoming a “brain pump”, extracting some of the hard fought creative juice, ( which is never as important as breast milk I might add, but very nourishing.)
The blossoms are out on our peach trees. The cactus are pricks. But beautiful all the same.