Worth Writing

That seems to be the way of Me.  I am here for a while, and then I retreat.  It is not an insult to you, to the world around me.  It is a survival thing.  I cannot explain it fully, not even to myself, and feel no compulsion to try today, so I will simply follow the instructions in the title and Continue.

Continuing on from December (now April…Spring has sprung) I am attempting to re-engage myself with the world around me.  Little by little.  Bear with me patiently, friends, as I don’t think I went into hibernation properly.  It was a blur.  I don’t recall what I brought with me.  Whether I gathered nuts or went nuts, for instance, or whether I stocked up on the right kind of sustenance for my peculiar species, though I assure you I managed to put on the winter fat a-plenty.  I did not shiver for want of an insulating layer, oh no.  *rueful grin* 

Now that it is Spring, I have been poking about the corners of my lair wanting to take full advantage of what I have been graced with as “home”.  I have raked and dug and pushed and pulled and scraped and scratched a few things into some order, holding some future promise of prettiness.  If nothing dies.  And if the grass seed takes.  We’ll see.

I am an agony of knotted muscles and pinched nerves for my efforts today, but the last week in the sun, in the garden, in the good earth, (well…the Hamilton earth shot through with broken concrete and bits of broken glass) have turned my skin brown and freckled, my brownish hair turning lighter and lighter, revealing my Scandinavian ancestry.  The essence of everything is being uncovered, no?

The essence of survival, then, is to return.  Simply return.  Re-turn.  Turn, and turn again.  Keep turning.  One of the best lines from one of the best songs: “We have travelled for years now, baby, just to get back to a place we had already found…” by Vonda Sheppard off the Ally McBeal soundtrack.  Surviving.

Like Steph.