A wonderful warm September day; since the twin towers tragedy I've noticed September is a personal chronological signifier of seismic internal and external change. This year is no exception.
At 7am today, I was in the cusp of the morning, watching the sun rise into soft clouds (later burned off by its heat). At the other end of the day, I walked in dusky fields soft-lit by the roseate afterglow.
The hectic pace in between safely buffered by green space and blue skies.
By October, the days will be too short to drain stresses into daylight, so this September time is precious.
The template of life change is like that of a 4-dimensional Escher puzzle; I've been given the corner pieces, and now the infinite pattern begins to reveal itself. There will be repetitions - the sun always rises and sets, the seasons morph into one another, albeit with changing characters. The ebb and flow of events will continue to play itself through time and space; my part is to work on perception and novel ways of seeing.
And stories, always stories, connections, Dreaming with the Driftwood Mirror and poetry.
One September I was blessed with an enchanted morning garbed in silver misted cobwebs. I've dusted off the poem that birthed - it needs some more crafting...
This September there is more writing ahead; writing alone, with Crysse, with other talented Frome writers... and hopefully Pilton writers, too. Maybe even writers I haven't yet met.
We shape the dimensions of our puzzles, our lives, with our individual and collective imaginative explorations...
No wonder I won't stand for writing time to be squeezed flat and lifeless. It needs space to breathe and stretch...
originally part of training/fundraising for the Hepatitis C Trust's Nepal trek. Now, sporadic musings...
- ▼ September (7)