My blog count for november seems to be dwelling somewhere dangerously close to very, very little. This is definitely no competition but at the end of the day my publicly broad-casted point of view has left a lot to be desired.
I cannot say that I have reached this problem due to any lack of imagination (to re-create the endless things that take place in my mind) or, for that matter, motivation to get off my ass and type something up. BUT: naturally even considering the source of my demise would probably take me on a long road that, in the end, gets me nowhere.
So, for now: I want to focus on the things that I can blog about.
If someone were perhaps try looking for me, they would do best to venture up the west coast to this tiny little place called church-haven. With all but twenty houses and a little dirt road, it wouldn't take any dear watson to locate me.
It's so quiet here. The size of it is totally dominated by the tremendous lagoon that stretches farther than the eye can see; but mostly, this place is so withdrawn from so many things. It always amazes me that it takes a place like this to allow me to fully consent to complete relaxation...and now that I am here, I am so content.
I am content with simply being. With listening to the fire as it hisses at the damp wood or staring out the window contemplating the weather, the birds and this amazing place I'm in. Or, my favourite, lying on the couch listening to my granny giggling at the book that she is reading.
It truly is about the little things in life.