The snow is almost all gone as I bask in temperatures of 3c. All gone, except for the range of ice mountains that have grown all along the side of the street, filthy with oily mud and topped with a patina of orange grit. They won’t melt for at least another month yet.
The tide of the year is about to turn. Tomorrow is the final wave and then it all slides back again, exposing the beach of a new year – all shiny and fresh and smooth. A blank canvas to drag a stick through and scrawl a message or two. Malleable sand to create some grand monument to impermanence.
This last month has mostly been about wading through snow and slush, and the day job then, when Christmas came, so did a pox of some description and I peered out at the next three days from under a duvet. Now I’m trying to remember how to write and jump-start the whole business again. The blog is a good place to exercise the muscle. I haven’t written anything new since ‘Unpicking the Stitches’ in November which, once all the reviews came in, I was quite happy with what I’d done there. An attempt had been made at revising my estranged short stories, and I’d even gone 3/4 of the way through ‘The Front Line’ to try and cut it down in size, but fatigue led me to video games and TV, and the beast that is December rampaged all over my work. So, time to start again and put finger to keyboard.