Bide a Wee

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.

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