Reflective

I have been thinking rather than doing this week.  Illness has slowed me down and forced me to put otherwise hasty actions on hold.  I have lots of things I want to do but a flaw in my make up thinks that everything has to be done and achieved now!  I should slow burn like the candle rather than ignite with the impact of a torched firework factory.

Being mindful of slowing down, there are some little treats I have lined up for myself this week.  Firstly I want to read  Thomas Hardy's Under the Greenwood Tree, search for some things I have in mind in the charity shops and if the mood takes me, I may assemble some jewellery.  No big plans, just some gentle ways back onto the wiggly path I am trying to follow.

For those of you not familiar with Hardy's work I leave you with the first paragraph of Under the Greenwood Tree written in 1872:

'To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature.  At the passing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall.  And winter, which modifies the note of such trees as shed their leaves, does not destroy its individuality.'

Ah, Mr Hardy, you have such a way with words.