Windows of Perception

A day of reflection and progress.

It's an odd contradiction that when I had to sit with my feet up and was supposed to have time to burn (pity the fool who does) the infinitesimal amount of muse I could muster led to paltry few words being committed to the cosmos or, in fact, cloud storage.
But of late I've found myself scribbling, jotting and clicking away -perhaps too much looking into the retrospective has made me ponder past a critical mass - or perhaps a sense of spluttering back towards life has invigorated me - but I've felt an urge to finally try to get down to writing some sort of nonsense that's at least passable enough to make the inner critic hover over the delete key.
Sure I now write fairly regularly for a couple of small magazines - and they even humour me enough to leave in the odd alliterative allusion, the references to the obtusely obscure - but for the most part they're factual pieces that write themselves - I merely add a little sculpting.
So today I got a goodly number of tasks done, spent an inordinate amount of time hunting the flittingly flirting fanciful kingfisher - even longer making my coffee just so - and then headed to the mancave.

The creative process, at my lowly level at least, involves more window staring than perception.

Footnote: when I was climbing at my very bestest, when I was young enough to believe in invincibility, Windows of Perception was the climb that got away. A beautiful line on the Welsh slate, I can still feel those impossible moves decades later.