A Locked Door

I write slowly. I find it an absorbing but exhausting process. I've set off on a long journey with no guarantee of ever arriving anywhere. My only other such journey consumed five years of my life and I'm not sure I ever did get to my destination - despite having a published book to show for my efforts. My mind is not as agile as it once was so I suspect this current project will consume even more time. And the destination is even more in doubt.

I'm nearing the end of a section, fine-tuning, the part of the process I possibly enjoy the most. I disappear behind a locked door, to another world where time obeys a whole different calculus to this one. 

This is not that locked door. As evident, I did manage to escape my garret for some air. I thought I'd secured a less hostile window of opportunity but the respite didn't last long and I ended up getting very wet and windswept. The weather continues to be unremittingly grim.