|A collage of old notebook pages. I was practising drawing legs.|
I have a note from my high school English teacher which references postmen and a poem called 'Vultures' and I have only the vaguest recollection of what those references mean. Not that they are important, but it's weird. So many things have happened. So many heartbeats and breaths. So many thoughts and decisions. And I don't care if I remember most of them.
My review process has picked out some of the best memories. My real achievements. Here are a collection of them (although some get to stay in my head):
- A particular August moon, and stars, and rain, and grass stains, and shivering, and darkness.
- The years long build up to tapping out thoughts and feelings here and creating little streams and watching them flow (and my endless love of river metaphors).
- Writing pencil notes in a detective book I took from a Wetherspoons after learning a secret.
- Making watercolours of webcam pictures in brown, pink, orange, and yellow (three years ago).
- Remembering to forget.