"The future enters into us....in order to transform itself in us.... long before it happens." William Beveridge Time is beginning to play tricks. It gallops along at a right old lick and then slows into stillness. I love the idea that the future enters into us, to . . .
I crashed into the week with news of an unexpected piece of work which was urgently required but at the very same time an old slain dragon (one I thought had long been put to bed) suddenly erupted into fiery form and whacked me over the head with it's . . .
The evening light is warm as toast casting long terracotta shadows on the woodland grasses. The Robin is back! The bare . . .
While I am standing beneath this Sycamore, besotted with its golden glow, leaves are passing away in front of my eyes. A little death is taking place as each one turns, decays and falls. Autumn and it's peaceful slowing brings the inevitable truth to mind. The wrinkling up of my smily . . .
We listen for the sound of the soft turf giving way with each footstep. We watch every little rustle in the leafy undergrowth. . . .