The winter is cold. Ice forms on the loch. I swim & two swans follow.
To dream of the past & live in it still, is to forego the future.
Childhood is present & the past real. On waking, aching loss remains.
the view outside my window of blossoms, birds, bees & trees changes as do I.
Darkness came at 4. Now it comes at 5:40 and I come, rarely.