succulents defying this summer's lack of water
Aggie basking on our bare lawn. She lies between stone steps that lead to the clothes-line. I think they look a bit like rocks or islands with the tide out.
Summer's sun and wind have sapped our lawn of green.
A steam train doing a novelty run the other day, caused over twenty grass fires.
It has been for us a month of sprucing up the garden; pruning back over-grown areas and untidy corners.
Also, we've been tidying and clearing, ready for a build. We are converting the end of our very long garage into a self-contained flat. After a frustrating wait of almost a year for the plans to be completed, at last we are underway.
From March on we are expecting two lots of family from overseas, along with offspring. For quite some time, our skinny, long house is going to have to take on the properties of a fat teapot. Cheerfully so.
I was figuring out the other day that this doorknob from my childhood home (the house itself long-gone) must be about 100 years old. As a child, my hand reached out for it many times. Attached to the inside of an outside door, it allowed me entrance into the wider outside world. It is still outside. Where it belongs.
After taking a month off, it is time to start writing again.
Poetry seems easier to achieve than prose at this stage. The poems have been arriving relatively effortlessly (although the wastepaper basket full of paper-balls from all the discarded drafts I've done for each poem, makes a lie of that statement).
Meanwhile, my novel's plot and characters have been left hanging. Poor things. Little do they know that when I do eventually get back to them, I'm going to mercilessly shake the plot all about in order to see who falls out.
For my last two books, I used a laptop to write the poems, cutting out any need to transcribe.
However, the process of writing by hand has again become my preferred method. This has been helped by a recent purchase. A purple compendium. Note: not to be confused with, or for the purposes of, 'purple prose'.
Writing outside is one of life's pleasures. And it's free.
These January days of no sleeves and bare legs. Tanned, bare feet. Walking on cool, wet sand.