Almost without colour except the dark summer near black of Aeonium Schwarzkopf.
I heard that a friends lost her mother this last week, a sad event.
I have been pondering and contemplating the meaning of life.
I'm suffering from a 'surfeit' of being jollied along, of enticements to be stimulated, of changing variety.
My life is fine as it is, even the humdrum is good. Analogy: my wooden bowl is beautiful, no need for gilding and glitter.