Repeateating patterns.
The chairs didn’t see the lay-by coming but sat silently in their still wisdom waiting for the next repeating pattern.
The lay-by saw me coming and was ready with its shadows of darkness.

I can definitely see a lay-by series developing.

Many years ago I wrote a poem about trying to get out of a lay-by, and guess what, here I am again. That’s twice this week. Splendid!

On another front, I was talking to someone this week who’d gone through an acrimonious divorce. They said that it would have been easier if their spouse had died. I can quite understand where they were coming from, but a whole, and utterly different ball game. Comparisons rarely work out well.

And, whilst I’m on various different fronts. I saw a little house today. It’s an old Bothy in the middle of nowhere with no one nearby. Far too seductive. Appealing to the part that wants to isolate. It’s powers of seduction may win out. My landlord must be very elderly now and I’ve not seen him since before my husband died. I could find myself homeless very easily but have been perpetually paralysed by not knowing what the next bit should be but also by a deep love of this place and no reason to be anywhere else.