Soft

Perth whiskers in at the open balcony door. Mid April yet sometimes summer still refutes our claims at high noon, spearing sun and searing air.
A soft afternoon of domesticity, answering emails and trying to still my mind. Limited success.
Richard Shindell, a voice of husky longing, funnily enough a great soundtrack to run to. If it's not trance it might as well have heart-tearing lyrics.
Not only am I learning to love the questions, but I think I am also developing a painful crush on the challenges. How very beautiful this life is.
And running, no matter how jibble-making, and sweat-pouring and stitchy, is good therapy. The tears that came last week reminded me a little of long ago cross country seasons, when just finishing - just finishing - meant the world to me.
Slowly, softly, sleep has returned. Over the weekend, when nights started at 7.30 and I woke with the birds (currawongs in WA?), drinking my cuppa Paul before the rest of the camp stirred, I felt refreshed, and a little blessed.

It's never easy, this life, this love ...  ...  ...