All in a day's work.
A neat morning meditation, with writing. A good morning of poetry. A trip to the tip. Now the blog. What a life, and a friend struggling with sciatica, which I wouldn't wish upon anyone.
Tomorrow it is football, and even with a new manager, it's just not possible to think too positively about the outcome, especially as their centre forward used to play for us, and they always score against their old clubs, don't they.
The cottage is booked for the fishing trip with my eldest son. On the cusp of September and October so we got a good discount for limited occupancy. It is a long trip, but at least my sons will be able to meet up.
Here is a family poem, but more related to Southern Ireland than Cornwall:
Family Familiar
They’ve travelled from far off states, to sample seas where heaven waits, in their search for roots and equilibrium; to sample life at outdoor’s gate, with rippled blues and mountain views.
Harbour all of great escape, her silver greys and spreading ways, to taste the salt of getting laid; sons and daughters, husband and wife, returning to the water, returning to the later life.
Sun, sea, breeze and looping light, feeling good and feeling right, rolling wrists in free-on, full-on sight; of the beach, as of the day, as of the ways of the hoped for wilder night.
Travelling far, from way off states, to sample just where it is, that justice hesitates.
