Reflections on the puddle of life

Spring is coming.

This morning when I left the house I saw a flash of purple in the beds. The crocuses have bloomed early and splattered around are daffodils pointing like spears at the sky, fattening before they bloom. Outside the window a swarm of flies is already dancing, and I think that we must expect another insect heavy summer, as the winter has been kind and undiminishing of their numbers. Yet it is still cold, and there is still the possibility that a sudden frost might kill them all, and then the summer would be bare and lonely, without life and colour to remind us why life, whilst fleeting, is worth living.

Today I have been left alone with some time to myself to write and think. It has been enjoyable, the freedom of having the house to myself which is a rarity, and the peace to allow my thoughts to flow freely. Of course being the horrible procrastinator that I am I have squandered the time miserably, but I did manage to write something towards my novel, and a poem which was inspired by the table at which I am sitting to write.

(poem deleted)