December flew past in a blur of pain and sleepless nights. I did not have the heart to write a blog. I just hoped the days and nights would carry me past the dates that tear scarlet scars on my heart.
Time passed, and now I see with horror that we seem to be tumbling into an apocalyptic mess, thanks to the warring words of our president. Iran seems to be responsing with caution and deliberation, clearly more adult, but will it end there? Striding to the brink is a dangerous game. One false step, one trip, and it's over the edge we go.
The weather has been unseasonal, not to say downright weird. Days of freezing cold and rough wind have been followed by balmy days more suited to May than January. Much as we are all loving the gift of warmth and sunlight, I heard a lone sparrow in a leafless street tree calling again and again for a mate, a sweet trill again and again, clearly unable to understand that two days ahead lie intimations of bitter chill, and many months to go before the spring.
Book events have been coming together, and are offering challenging and stimulating moments where anything seems possible. I find I can do so much less than I used to within the hours of a day. It makes me feel old and powerless.
I no longer know how to include images into my material. Everything changes, and the general assumption is that everything changes for the better. I am learning that this is not always so. I am going to have to re-learn how to program the finer points of my blog so that I can free my mind to write without going into paroxisms of frustration because I have forgotten how to transfer my words to the page.