Surprise Attacks

I have never written so little.

Unusual.

Playing guitar a little each evening.
Slow murder of two beautiful tunes belonging to the Irish harpist Turlough O'Carolan:
Lament for Owen Roe O'Neill
Si Bheag Si Mhor

Also learning the Kesh Jig on Anglo concertina.

Interesting exercise. Traditional tunes, not just ITM, tend to trip me up. It's the subtle variation in the melody line between the different Parts. It really stretches my memory. Often I end up mixing lines of one part into the line of another. Intend later this year to learn an old favourite Geese in the Bog/Jig of Slurs and that rather sweet Northumbrian tune Salmon Tails Up The Water.

I crashed Calvin into a wall. I wouldn't dismiss him. He has a place. Just not for me now. The gist of his message has already arrived.

I am sat next to Thucydides and may commence reading his work tonight. It will be the second reading.

I'm reviewing how I approach Work. Something tells me to play fast and loose. Non committal. Free moving, without anchor. Just working at the core: self-remembering.

The old metaphors have been washed away.

Even yesterday thinking of the idea of ploughing.

What?

Ploughing destroys the earth to dust. Ironic given that the invention of the plough would feed so many ... for a time. And though my gardening enterprises are much reduced these days, I'm wholly an advocate of no-dig techniques.

It's just that.

Time rolls along. Ages pass into the future.

The enemy has always favoured surprise attacks.

Slippy fish, wriggly worm.