Och, scurrying past my window? Jist bide a wee… copying these older posts across is a chore and I need a break.
Tapping into the Past: “Playing these songs now makes me feel as though I’m tapping into myself as I used to be…”
The Missing Notepad: “We had our conversations in it; our shopping lists, house-letting plan of action, room measurements, blog notes, and anything else we needed to jot down in a hurry. I didn’t notice the moment it slipped from view – just one day I reached into my wheelie bag and wasn’t there.”
I Talk to the Trees: Letting out my house… “Funny how my home still lays claim to me. I go inside and the door shuts. Peace steals over me like treacle.”
The Light and Shade of Computerspace: In other words… FRACTALS! “Mum appeared in the doorway looking disgruntled, and said ‘I thought you’d died.’“
The Relentless March of Time: death of a fractal artist.
They Don’t Make ‘Em the Way they Used to: there are no blue carpets, green carpets, red carpets, pink carpets, orange carpets, purple carpets…
About a Scottish Poet: George Mackay Brown, and understanding people.