Image by edith lüthi from Pixabay
A new week and a new month.
A new page, awaiting that first pen stroke…
This is how it feels this morning, but the truth doesn’t seem so lyrical or poetic.
I have had a look at all the irons in my fire, still far too many for my liking. I have become used to seeing them there, and maybe that’s the problem. They have become ‘normal’…
I removed one of them last week. I waited for the heavens to open, or some other fanfare, but my effort passed almost unnoticed. Maybe, it takes more than one. I will have to get rid of another, just to see…
I wonder what I will get up to this week?
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