points of view

It’s by no means the first time I’ve noticed or commented on it, but, once again, I am reminded that, wherever you are, there are different ways of looking at things.

There is nothing in the least bit attractive about the local bus station, car park and parade of modern shops. And yet if you turn around, you get this lovely view of daffodils and an inaccessible little door in the old stone wall, which I believe is a remnant of the 14th century town fortifications.

It’s all about perspective – and often that’s a personal choice.

white daffodils, medieval stone wall

A big as your imagination

I commented yesterday that I hadn’t had room in my brain recently for all the thoughts I wanted to think. But it seems I must have disconnected enough this weekend to start more ideas moving, as I woke up early this morning wanting to get writing.

At the moment, I’m not sure there’s much clarity among the ideas, which are tumbling out fairly haphazardly – and almost simultaneously – into several documents, all open at the same time.
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unseen & unseasonal

So, in the last post – in vino veritas – I was whining and whingeing on about the neverending nothingness and nonoccurrences of the coronavirus lockdown and bemoaning my own lack of life and liberty (never mind the chance to pursue any happiness).

Then I ended up finding a bright sunrise at the bottom of a wineglass. And that got me thinking…
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something to look forward to

I usually check the weather forecast when I get up in the morning, although I’m really not very sure why, as they inevitably get it wrong. And sometimes the outlook is so very, very bleak that it’s better not to know what’s in store.

This morning, according to the BBC, the day was set to be grey. Not wet; not thick black cloud. Just grey. There was no sign of sunshine or rain or snow. Nothing but monotonous grey.
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nature lessons

When I was a child, my family used to attend church regularly. The minister was a kind man who cycled round the town as he said it put him in closer contact with his parishioners than driving a car would. I don’t know how the adults felt about him, but I was a shy little girl and he must have been one of the few men I trusted.

Perhaps what I remember most is that he had a story for every occasion and could turn any situation into a learning experience without it coming across as heavy-handed or didactic.
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