We never know how high we are
till we are asked to rise
and then if we are true to plan
our statures touch the skies-

The Heroism we recite
would be a normal thing
did not ourselves the Cubits warp
for fear to be a King-



I'm feeling a touch pensive tonight. Mostly out of tiredness I dare say, and a want for sunlight. It's less than a month into winter and it already feels that the grey clouds have been present for an eternity. I have never had a particularly great affection for rain, I get cold easily and raindrops feel like ice on my skin.

But still, it's one of those weary, sad evenings when you just want to curl up, bury your face in your hands, and lose yourself amid your thoughts.


pictures. . .

a picture's worth a thousand words,
they say, (or so i've heard).
but "they" have never stop't to feel,
the meaning hid within a word.

the depth and breadth of-- 'love' cannot,
be caught in mere brushstrokes.
just as a microscope can't show,
the grandeur of the mighty oaks.



A bit of silliness really...

I am not entirely certain why I am beginning a blog again, I am quite terrible at it. I must have five of them lying about in various corners of the internet, all quite dusty with neglect. But it seems I don't learn my lessons very well, for I am here again. Starting anew.

I am not very good at composing posts, particularly the first ones. But as they say with writing books, you can't write your fifth book until you've written the previous four. So I cannot jump into having my ideal blog until long after I've written my first post.

I cannot promise that this shall be a very good blog. In fact, I am convinced it shall be a very bad one, probably quite self-centred and utterly dull. But I've got a great deal of life that I'm sorting through, and I thought that perhaps blogging might help me organize it out into something that would seem vaguely logical.

I am not the blogging type or the journaling sort. I tend to express myself through creating things. When I'm happy I bake or cook. If I'm sad or introspective I paint. When I'm lonely I sew. If I'm feeling solitary and introspective I write poetry (very bad poetry that tends to veer from irreverent and nonchalant to rather morose and depressing). And, very occasionally I do something else, although neither I nor anyone else can ever be quite sure what it may be.

Anyway, this is my very inconsequential blog. It shall likely be a disorganized array of quotes, poetry, impertinent opinions, pictures, paintings, and odd musings. Read it at thine own peril.