Random recent photos. And completely random is how I feel: thence the lack of anything substantive here of late. The shell is standing up, walking around, emitting words from time to time, but shell is what it is – knock on me and I’ll reverberate, or crack, perhaps, if you knock too hard. The skin is standing up, but inside there the organs, vessels, fibres are sleeping on their feet like horses. Sporadically, words and images bubble to the surface, but there’s no theme. I’ve lost the plot. There was a plot, wasn't there? I'm sure there was. It’ll come back to me, I suppose. Rest in the randomness. Let it be. It’ll all come back to me.
Lovely pictures, but I'm a bit put out that you've got crocuses (crocii?) in the city & we're still standing over ours in the village waiting for the buggers to show.