For everything there is a season; and a time for every purpose under heaven

A new city. The old me.
This is the season for change.

One of the changes in my life is going to be the winding down of 'The Orange Fling'. It's done me a world of good and there may be a time when I revive it. Or start a new blog. Maybe. For now it's adieu.

I'll be around reading and commenting. Just not writing.

Sometimes I cannot write

Tonight I cannot write. It is not that I am devoid of thought; what a blessed relief that would be, the formlessness of thoughtlessness for then I would not have all these words chasing each other around drunk with the knowledge that they can keep me up all night wishing I could get rid of them. I turn off the light, I turn it on, I walk, I pace, I loll upon the wooden settee with the blue and green checked covers and the throw pillows taking up space on its narrow seat. This is not how I wish to spend the night, there are other ideas about that chasing the words in my head. Ideas and words how well they go together like Michelle the belle in the song that the Beatles sang and why would anyone call their band something that sounds like they scuttle across grass green lawns their six legs keeping them from sinking into the lushness like the red velvet sofa embracing the girl in the painting Ravi Varma's I think it was but maybe not maybe it is an image I have put together from the many in my mind like a collage I pick and choose and make a composite and thus I write a poem, a story and sometimes rubbish.