I am in the grey place you can only sink into writing an essay

It is like an overwhelming mist of academic terminolgy that makes me doubt I have anything original or valid to write about

or even if I care.

<sigh>

I would rather play a game with my children who come to the doorway and ask me so nicely, whilst I pretty much beg them to leave me alone so 'Mummy can work.'

Work? on what? an essay about something most people don't care about.

Who am I doing this for?

Even though I assert the process is to enable better job prospects to provide a decent life for the children, the truth is money has never been in my mind. It is the learning that I love. The books. The peeling layers away to discover pearls and grit and still want more. It is as marvelous to me now as it was when I first read a book on my own and realised I could read any book I wanted to.

But as for writing my own essay, well that is always a battle. I get there in the end but I take a few wounds before I hand it in. Six days to go.

Small Stone : 2

joy is circular -
the dog, dumb with it, runs around me
my boys chase each other in a perfect O

Small Stone:1

at the top of the staircase

everything is white;
a lily unfolding

photo by Margaret Clough

A river of stones

This is an interesting idea. A small stone is a moment, an observation, noticing something you have previously ignored. The stones read like haiku, a fragment of poetry. I like reading them and they remind me of my diary. I write observations in it whenever I see/ think of something that inspires me. Later I collect them into poems but for this month I will post a new stone everyday, in the raw state of immediate thought.

You can read about the project here

It is not too late to join in.

Star Gazing

Pleiades, seven luminous blue tinted stars that can be viewed in the Northern Hemisphere during the winter months. The Greeks called them the Seven Sisters. I plan to wait for a clear night and take the dog for a midnight walk and look at them, but I keep falling asleep.

American Indians tested the keeness of their vision trying to see all seven. I doubt my short sighted eyes will see them all, but perhaps I will be lucky.

Janus, God of endings and beginnings.

I love the first day of a new year

The snow melted and seemed to transform into dreams, confusing fog. December was stressful and I spent too much time thinking of the past. Pointless.

Christmas was magical. Children were happy. However there was lots of flu in the house so we all felt very tired.

But now I feel like I have a new skin. The chill has fled, mild weather means I can see my garden again, imagine the work I can do in it this spring.

My chickens were baffled and depressed by the snow covering their garden. They stood on the threshold of their pen and looked out sadly. The snow was beautiful but cold as midnight.

January offers the brightness of a new dawn