One day I'll fly away

One day we'll all fly away.

Lots of thinking today.

Time spent looking at weeds in the garden is very grounding. I've become very fond of a lot of "weeds" since starting to take photos. I have full admiration for anything that's survived this year's weather and slug infestations, and I've seen how some weeds are far prettier and more attractive to all sorts of wildlife than some of the conventionally acceptable flowers.

I sat in a quiet corner of the garden for 2-3 minutes with my camera, getting a wet arse on the still-wet grass, while Tess gave the dog a middle parting with the help of paddling pool water - and I looked at things that have sprung up or renewed themselves in the 2 days of dry weather we've had and I thought about the "Survival of the fittest". I saw spiders making new webs and the return of the butterflies and these weeds releasing their seed heads and realised that it wasn't necessarily about the fittest but about the most adaptable.

"Survival of the ones that can behave differently to suit what's going on around them" is what Darwin meant, I expect. I hear he used to sit in a small patch of his garden getting a wet arse too.

We went to the beach for half an hour this evening so Dylan could steal a few toys from children and other dogs, and Tess could have another paddle around.

I wanted to write a flash fiction today but I have one of those heads that not only needs my 5 senses to be in a mellow place but also my conscience, and recently they all feel under attack - especially my sense of hearing and feelings of duty and guilt
It's horrible being sensitive. I genuinely feel like noise is a personal attack on me.

I wish I could be like a modern female version of Roald Dahl and have writing hut at the bottom of the garden with strict instructions to only disturb in an emergency.

Would I use it though.... ???? Guiltguiltguiltguilt