Life. It’s happening as I type.

I haven’t been around much lately. Because, well, life. It is happening as I type.

The days have been a promise of sunshine and warmth. Washing attempting to float in the wind, pegged against its will to the line.

Rhythm escapes me as I run the well worn tracks. Magpies eye me as I pass. The perfect playlist eludes.

Sunshine and freshly cut grass, the signs that spring is here; an itchy combination to the hay fever inclined.

I tried to blog the everyday, the ordinary. But life is not about that right now. So instead, the posts remain undone. Snippets of words come in the half-dream of 3am.  I wonder about getting up and writing them down.

For now, life is enough. No less and no more. The words of 3am remain half spoken. For the moment they can lurk. I have no time to catch them.

Today the sounds of Johnny Cash singing One, played in a cafe as I sipped coffee. The man in black. He brought to mind another man in black. And it made me smile. And that? It is enough. Because life. It’s happening while I type.

 

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