These days the cold air and short days lay me low, i think about the summer and how far away it was, its like going through a tunnel. Bed is a wonderful place of long warm nights dreaming of the cheese, and who moved it. Warm pillows and hot coffee in the morning. Outside grey cold days followed by wet grey cold days. By 3.30pm its getting dark. So when i sit at my desk and write i know im not missing much im into the now place and the words i have to find to get to the place i want to be. I have started my book, short chapters which tell stories from the past, dips into the past, tapas tales. Im enjoying the ride. I have to concentrate on the other words, the lyrical ones. Im on a tightrope with them and i keep thinking i might fall, so the faith i have in other parts of my life is being redistributed around to this place, the other place. The barn is coming along, the foundations are down and one end is being slowly put together. Its cold down there and the builders have a small fire, here are my boots from the fireside. June seems months away, and it is, so i try and keep a level head about next year and the move. 3 miles from here along the coach road. Im so very grateful for all of this and my wonderful time here on earth, im so lucky to have this life. Nesting in the winter is wonderful, its a time for soups and white shirts, pies and thick socks. On a domestic level all i feel is loved in the warm chamber of within. A day at my desk draws to a close with nothing much achieved, although it feels like i have managed to complete another chapter just by thinking about it. So its in the future rather like Christmas, and today i went internet shopping for things. It was exhausting, up and down the virtual isles. I have two days put aside for physical shopping in two weeks, and then its ding dong time. Its all over in a whisker then its next year all over again. Nesting in winter is wonderful, its perfect for people of my age, i just nap and eat, who cares about anything else. When i see the birds outside in the morning i can see they love to nest too, as they hunt for worms and sticks, our nut holders are empty they look at them with small yellow frowns on their faces. Im sorry birds. The dog goes to his bed at nine for a warm pile up in the flea pit. Im off to bed! Who’s idea was winter anyways? If i loved in Africa i would miss this time of the year, i would be in loins all year round hanging out in the heat. Im so lucky to have the seasons, the warm, the wet, the windy and the bloody cold and grey. My life missed a day today, i sat here i wrote but no gold from the ground. Oh well.