June to January - a round-up

I haven’t been blogging much recently, mostly because Frog’s death (2 years ago) has made me less confident and more negative (What’s the use? Etc etc.). Also, I have twice as much to do as before and I don’t know how to do half of it.

Recently however, as I feel stronger and more capable of dealing with my new life, I’ve been looking for something extra. Or, rather, I’ve been scratching around frantically, trying to fill the emptiness left by Frog’s departure.

Two days ago, two things happened. First, a cousin heaped praise on my pictures and my writing (I think she was talking about my blog). Thank you, A. Then, a friend sent me a link to a scheme in which each day different writers and artists suggest creative things people can do. That day’s piece was by Michael Rosen, former Children’s Laureate, and I found it inspiring. Thank you, C.

I took that conjunction as a nudge from the universe. I had been thinking about writing. Like being out in nature, it takes me to another world, it gives me faith, and I’m a dead loss at 'good works' - things voluntary and for the community which are the usual solution for people in my situation. I have been keeping a sort of diary for the last 2 years but that's definitely not for public consumption and I wanted readers. The first line of a novel did come into my head and I already had a vague plan for one but I became overwhelmed by the enormity of the task. Blogging seemed to be the answer.

So here goes - a round-up in pictures of the last 7 months.

  

June and a heatwave. Ellie takes advantage of the garden's shade-sail. 

                 October and a muddy, misty dawn. I’m up early these days and it has its advantages.

 

November and autumn colours. (Spot the dog.)

 

The ever-photogenic canal in early December, where I bumped into a friend who made me coffee beside the water with his wind-up machine that ground the beans and frothed the milk. Frog would have loved it.

Mid-December. Sunset, with crows in my wild cherry tree. I once freed three crows that I found trapped in a crate for some nefarious purpose, and I believe that crows now look out for me because it has become imprinted in their lore that I'm a friend of their species.

Dusk on Christmas Eve and a walk with my family in Kent’s beautiful North Downs.

New Year. I have a cold and C brings me a jar of her home-made onion pickles, which she says are good for infection. I put some on my wintry salad of red cabbage, toasted pumpkin seeds and raisins. It is a new taste sensation.

By the sea last week. People are swimming, some in wet-suits and some in nothing but bathing costumes. Brr. But I’m sort of envious.