Tuesday, May 16, 2017


I wanted to tell you that I miss you. I miss writing my blog. But when I wake up in the morning, instead of thinking of a blog post, I am writing the next scene of the novel in my head. There is not room for both.

May this year is stunning. I don't know if it's always quite as stunning or if it's because I've been paying closer attention than I usually do. I mean I know I like May, I know it's my favourite month, but it seems even more extravagantly beautiful this year - as if there's something in the back of my head that's saying - make the most of this - it might be your last. 

Usually I am in Colorado for the start of the Derbyshire spring, and arrive home after the grass has started to go greener, and the very first tiny leaves are pushing through - the honeysuckle and the clematis. This year I was in Colorado at Christmas instead,  so I've seen the whole production of Spring from start to finish and now - at last, in the last two days - the ash trees have come out and it's the grand finale and I'm giving a standing ovation.

Let’s love today, the what we have now, this day, not
          today or tomorrow or
yesterday, but this passing moment, that will
          not come again.

James Schuyler, from A Few days

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