Maybe.

I worked today, in the back yard of our new house. I unburied the sweetest little stone walkway into the side entrance of the carriage house. I found interesting plants beneath the leaves. The hemlocks that Tim cut down in front of the house are showing new growth. Everywhere I turned, I was making discoveries. I raked and gave myself a blister, but it was warm with a sturdy breeze blowing, thunder rumbling far off into the distance. I daydreamed about days gone by, and what the garden looked like in all its glory.

As I daydreamed, it occurred to me that my daydreaming could be a book.