Good Morning Dear Friends, welcome to my humble abode and, of course, a new year . . .
It is customary in these parts on days such as this to greet one and all with numerous references to white rabbits (which I hope you will take as read) and to bestow wishes of good fortune upon friend and foe alike - I hope you have acknowledged these sentiments and taken them to heart.
To be totally frank I never really understood the point of all the celebratory business connected to new year; it's almost as though everyone is sighing with relief that all the mistakes are behind them and that they are almost eager to start messing up their lives all over again - or is that just my cynicism ? Maybe I am being much too harsh on my fellow travellers in time, or maybe it's simply not the same when one is sober? Anyhow, the year turned with no great clamour but just me, Sal and a good read as the walls and windows shook with the sound of fireworks and revellry . . .
I awoke at around seven, had a simple tisane and toast breakfast and read; now, at a little after nine, in the great without the world begins to wake and rub its bleary eyes . . . another gray and overcast day and, for once, one that remains virginally blank in my diary; I have various housework type tasks to accomplish but will defer those until my neighbours have roused themselves from their stupor and consumed their first liquid lunches of the year, consideration is all, don't you think?
Do you think I sound grumpy this morning? Do you detect a distinct lack of bonhomie? I must admit to feeling slightly below par in terms of joviality but hope to remedy that soon - so apologies to you all . . .
Actually, even though you are here the library feels strangely empty; for once the chairs contain only shadows of you all; I can see the bookcases through your turned backs and the breakfast stands uneaten and untouched . . . how very curious! Maybe the new year has caused some kind of rift in the space time continuum? Or perhaps I am just waiting for your words to populate my world . . . mayhap I imagined it all in the first place, and if so I wonder who imagined me? Enough of such circular logic - it is far too early and the day awaits my potters hands to mould its grayness into something of utility or beauty - possibly both!
I shall leave the door open and you may wonder in and out as you choose; I hope you enjoy your day and, in fact, all your days and "knowest not the number of them, but take each singular and special as a flower amongst many "
'til next time
Be Seeing You !