We all see the same sky.
Your rain is our water.
Oceans always merge.
Space is continuous.
You are always me.
We join at the heart.
Our sun is everyone’s.
We all see the same sky.
… yeah, and I love books too. This is a fraction of a fraction of the books I have. Technically, the Middle three shelves aren’t mine (even though I bought them and I occasionally read them). The bottom three shelves (including the floor) are books that I’ve read and need to find a home for. The top shelf is books about writing, classics and a set of inspector Morse books that I picked up for a couple of quid. The next two shelves down are books that I’m reading through alphabetically by author (already sorted). Oh, and hands off the ducks! 🐸
I love this place because, even though I know that there are houses within shouting distance at all points, when I look around all I can see is trees and so I can easily imagine that I’m in a well-tended glade in the middle of a forest and that there are 4,000 miles of trees in every direction.
Honestly, I don’t know why you stick around. Is it for the skies?
I’ve no photography to share with you apart from the tree loppers I took back to B&Q for a refund, and that’s nobodies definition of interesting.
I’ve no stories in me apart from that I went to a Bookcrossing and swapped 10 books I’ve finished reading with one book to read (Mexican Gothic), which is a great result considering that the study is overflowing with books but is hardly interesting.
I’ve no great plans to share other than my ongoing plans to be world famous and live forever (well, at least until I’m 120) but that’s hardly news of you’ve been reading my stuff for a while.
I’ve no books to tell you about other than I’m reading one called Gut by Giulia, Enders, which is about the human digestive system (not entirely unrelated to digestive biscuits) and is fascinating me (so far) with its tales of what happens to the stuff we eat on its way through our body. But who wants to know about that sh…tuff!
In fact, I’ve nothing to tell you at all. Sorry about that.
What’s so wrong with being happy?
Stories are easy. They are just snatches of life that have starts, middles and ends. It’s easy to pick them out because they are usually the things that we tell people we just met on trains.
I don’t know why were don’t write our stories down more often. We just have to listen to ourselves when talking to strangers (the stranger the better) and remember what we said. Better still, we could record ourselves secretly. It has to be secret, otherwise we would get self-conscious about it.
Once we have our recordings, we just need to transcribe them. You could try using your phone to transcribe for you but the results aren’t always that great.
Either way, when you’ve done typing it all up you’ll have a few good stories to publish. That is, you’ll have good stories if the person you talked to on the bus was interesting; and by this I mean that you have to ‘fancy’ the person in order to get yourself to tell them your best stories. If there’s no attraction then you’ll only allow yourself to say boring things.
But hey, if none of this resonates with you and you genuinely don’t have stories under your hat, don’t worry about it; there’s always other people’s blogs and books. 🐸
I’m really love to do some things he’s so I was wondering well is this and I thought well if I’m reluctant to do something does that mean I don’t mind do it and I should stop doing it and that you know that should not be my path in life or should it be that I should break through these barriers and like you not get my haircut when it gets too long and clean under the table when it gets too dusty and you not send that email when it’s way over due to be sent stuff like that and then I was thinking well maybe if I didn’t eat so much chocolate have you left reluctant to do things that involve actually moving and yeah perhaps are have you no like you more impetus to do more than just to watch movies all night and go to bed at the same time so I can get up in the morning and do something wonderful with the fresh UK and I thought all of that stuff that just brains stuff maybe I should just do something instead like you know go to bed what a great idea
I’m in the back garden at 10pm and the air feels fresh on my skin like ice cream feels in my throat on a hot, sunny day.
Blackbirds still serenading me and I’m saying hello to them in reply. I know I’ll never teach them English and that’s okay.
The breeze makes the leaves in the bushes whisper to me and I’d whisper back if only I could find such power as they have.
There are lizards walking up the wall towards the sun, which is yellow to their green; high to their low and yet I’m lower.
It’s nights like these that I could stay up all night and never feel the need for anything but my skin, my eyes, my ears and my love.
You needn’t be doing anything with this moment except precisely what you’re doing now.
… and the next moment will be taken care of too, so don’t worry about that.
(Because people seem to struggle with the thought that they might not be using their time in a worthwhile way even when they’re doing stuff that’s hard, like raising kids, getting by and breathing. Do you know how hard it is to breathe sometimes? Yeah, I know you do. And just getting by ain’t easy. It takes courage to get up and face the day sometimes, especially when yesterday was such a struggle that you felt like giving up a thousand times a day. As for kids; they are tough little buggers that actually bounce most of the time when they fall over, but even thinking about them falling over and what could happen next is tougher than tough. But forget all that for this moment. For now, just be who you are, because you are very enough just now. And you’ll continue to be so.)