I remember when writing a blog post was a relatively simple affair. Inspiration came easily. There were stories from my past, funny anecdotes about my family, reminiscences from my school days, college years, teaching career, spiritual progression, and so on and so on. The list of possibilities seemed endless. There were even poems sometimes,some of which, I considered to be, “quite good.”
So what's the problem? Today I planned to write. Shouldn't be too difficult, I thought. Yesterday Ray got scammed out of a considerable amount of money, and I scraped the car against the wall in Gloucester Road (An event which I have yet to speak of to Ray, thinking, not without justification, that yesterday would not have been the best day to casually drop it into the conversation.)
But I don't want to write about scams and scrapes, I'd rather write about something uplifting, positive, cheerful, and if possible, noteworthy on a grander scale.
So I went for a walk in my garden. I took my shoes off and stepped, gingerly on the the daisy carpet, enjoying the sensation of having the earth beneath my feet.
I wish I could convey the wonder of the next few moments. I guess they ARE only ever moments, when suddenly everything makes sense. If you were to ask me to describe it, I would make you laugh, I think.
I felt like Eve, before Adam turned up.
