the seasonal year, Thinking Day, Lent, Shrove into Ash along the spring to Easter. The Saint days, the.well know ones in the UK on top one another. The lovers day to Mothers' and a whole host of family, friends and personal milestones ....
My gift to self tends to be vastly different like anyone who suffers the usual lost. Those who live with unusual circumstance too know if they realise when not in a haze of addictions or phobias or OCD tendencies .... me hubby lost long before he died ....
I miss the snowdrops. The variety of the landscape tucked away in a more urban jungle. The rugged scenery, not a part of here.
This is a juncture where in the moment, unlike yesterday in a haze of giving up, which pings in at any given time.... I feel alive again! ... and like to be back among the cove and bay life ...
I may just pick up driving. Inoft never see that again. It might be the spur then I can transport myself to the tors and cors of the top of heights, even if I rent a vehicle occasionally ...
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