Thursday

Writing here, almost every day…A commitment? A stupid bet? A sort of guide? In any case, it makes me realise what I am, and ensures I don’t stay here motionless. I feel something taking shape in me, and this something comes from Alasdair, the source, vector and object all at the same time. Writing every day, moving slowly along, growing as a person, as my peony flowers day after day. Until birth? Harry has got me to look after the garden, and the flower in the photo is like the witness of a fruit that has matured in the light of my work. I have to feel love for it, and place my total trust in it as it guides me, its sublime innocence bringing me back to the universe to which I belong. Inside, outside…