I know, I know, time doesn’t exist. It’s just a measure of a passage, of our existence as well as of the stars’. It’s psychological.
However, as the second month of this year (not ‘new’ anymore, is it?) is approaching its end, I cannot help wondering if maybe there is some truth in all those speculations about the Schumann resonances and time speeding up.
It certainly feels galloping to me…
I do not have time…
I think with longing to the wonderful pleasure of reading your blogs, of pondering over your words and pictures, of writing comments in which to speak from my heart… I hope to be able to do it again, rather sooner than later…
In the mean time, I use every spare moment I have working on my novel. As my best friend said to me after she read a chapter, “it’s written in blood…”
So I got out of my little cave where I watch shadows on the wall, just to say “Hello!” and that I’m not dead yet, and that hope is always alive…
And to leave you with two pics from last Sunday in the local park…
The lake looks dreary but I know it's just snugly waiting for the spring to return...
And a place to get bit of maple syrup on ice to sweeten your heart...
