It’s a new year but it’s also a new day by day. I try not to shape the future but I am trying to imagine the shape of it. It appears to be in the shape of mountains.
A mountain of ironing that will never be done; I’ve grown proud of the creases. A mountain of washing up that demands attention when I can’t find my favourite knife or spoon or dish or a space to fit the kettle under the tap. That last thing gets me going. Mining the mountain to retrieve what I need and thereby obliterating it.
A mountain of works in progress; books to read; fruit to eat before they rot. A mountain of Other Things to Do. As long as there are other things to do I can forget the other mountains; never mind that Other Things rise into more mountains.