Why ?

Why is it so hard for me to start this up again ? I have no idea...

I always enjoyed writing, wrote for the school student paper, wrote diaries a plenty, wrote loads of letters back when writing letters was still more common than writing emails, even had ambitions of writing a novel one day...

But I suppose daily life took over. Surreptitiously. Without my noticing. From a spectator and a "reporter", I became a participant. Something I never was while growing up.

Having a child probably brought this on. And living out some long-harboured wishes like learning to ride horses and traveling all alone. This helped me to live "in the present" more. What people call mindfulness now was brought to me bit by bit, over the past 15 years. And I am enjoying it, even the murkier parts of it ! I am tasting life, feeling life in my hands, sitting in it on my knees, sinking into it and swimming in it.

Being realistic, I know that I am past half of it (life) and for all the grief it brought me, I can't say I didn't enjoy it, in all.

I have become sensitive to the proportionality, have learned to count my blessings, and get up with immense gratefulness every morning, because I can embrace yet another day where I am allowed to give love, experience tenderness and laughter, look at the wonderful beauty of all those things man did not create - the eternity of nature.

And I must say I suspect some people will find me overly mushy, but I don't really care about that.

Details about daily life next time. Just saying I am happy to be here and happy to know all of you who are reading this.

As I am a sunrise person rather than a sunset one, I am showing you one, seen through the trees...