When the weather cooperates, the early morning walk isn’t the longest but it’s the best. Less chances of other dogs and/or dog haters around. No parents convinced you and your canine are on a mission to terrorize their children and slather filth on their doorposts. Plus, the sun rising on the river, the trees, the old stones and decrepit buildings of the medieval quarter. The town’s been through a few attempts at beautification – remains of which include busted street lanterns casting morning shadows. No camera with me. Several views fixed in the brain instead.
Hacked away at more of the thorny bushes crowding my entrance, yesterday. Thorns of impressive length and aggressiveness on bushes of uncommon resilience. New shoots sprout up, determined to carry on the family line. Meanwhile, I plan occupancy of each precious centimeter from the door to the asphalt. Clean out the cruddy post box. Oil the thirsty wood on the door. Listen to the voices in my head until one of them manages to transfer entire sentences to the write-up stage. Write. Read. Do my best to ignore the all-too familiar mind sets – or pass them on to a character who might make some use of them.
The living space takes shape. The mind space adjusts. Books find their main home, then travel around from upstairs to down. Forgotten bits crop up.
You hoped for more? Of course you did. There will be more, both familiar and unexpected? Of course there will. Reality Principle. Dreaming on. Part of.