Trying to get back in to writing here again, for some reason this particular photo file popped up without even a click.
This was the first photo.
Once again, strangeness strikes for me when I realize that none of the things in that picture remain.
Strangeness strikes at the (ha-ha) strangest times.
It happens frequently when I finish a book. I may be coming in from the terrace. I may have just gotten up from my comfy new chair by the fireplace. I close the cover of my latest adventure and I inevitably think, "I'll just go upstairs and get another book off the beam." There are NO books upstairs. There are NO books left that were on the beams.
Of course I stop myself mid-thought and step.
There is obviously a former flow to my life here that is so ingrained that it just pops up naturally when I've finished a book.
i'm learning again. I'm moving on.
Even if sometimes I feel like this little guy who is on the inside looking out through the bars at the world.
I'm not a prisoner. I am free. I am letting go.