veils

Today I woke up to what looked in every way like Spring. April 14th - my Mother's birthday.

How appropriate, I thought. How very nice that Spring is going to pay a visit in honour of this good woman.
Well, it must have had another birthday to rush off to, because it left abruptly, allowing Winter to get its foot in the door again. Tarnation!


It should not be difficult to make time for a blog. But it is. I have way too much to say and a constant feeling of needing to be doing something else right now. Practicing, that is. It feels like such a luxury to sit down and muse slowly and at length about this and that. I'd like to muse about the book I'm reading and the shotgun to the heart it dealt me this afternoon, and about some poetry and some music, and about the tangles and tears in my mind (tears as in ripped, not as in wept) and about people close and far. Aargh. I'll let myself do this on Saturday, I think.


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