August 8th, 2020

Poem of the day

By The Sea
— Emily Dickinson

I started early, took my dog,

And visited the sea;

The mermaids in the basement

Came out to look at me.

And frigates in the upper floor

Extended hempen hands,

Presuming me to be a mouse

Aground, upon the sands.

But no man moved me till the tide

Went past my simple shoe,

And past my apron and my belt,

And past my bodice too,

And made as he would eat me up

As wholly as a dew

Upon a dandelion's sleeve -

And then I started too.

And he - he followed close behind;

I felt his silver heel

Upon my ankle, - then my shoes

Would overflow with pearl.

Until we met the solid town,

No man he seemed to know;

And bowing with a mighty look

At me, the sea withdrew.

The flow of life

It's dark inside the flat — a flat in Padstow, Cornwall that we've been coming to for well over 15 years. 

My daughter and her BF are asleep in the lounge, there is practically no light and yet still I type these words.

Lucky me, eh!

But I am lucky.

I see that in great waves of gratitude each day I get up with the spirit to write, to do my work and to be here — with a world still to explore (allowing for a wee pandemic along the way).

That said, and having just celebrated my 53rd birthday, I feel an increasing sense that life is slipping through my fingers, one brief moment at a time. There's a real sense that this day — this moment in fact — will never come again and I've got to do everything within my power to make the most of things. I don't mean I've to eat up each day with a long, and in my case, turgid To-Do List, but, instead, to remember to pause, reflect, breathe and to take in everything that life has to offer. 

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