Somewhere new to explore.
A new viewpoint.
A bright fresh land.
Trails to ride.
The things that I dream of. Reality and metaphor hand in hand.
Physical and emotional. Conscious and unconscious.
Much hangs upon 2013. Meeting the mother whom I last encountered forty-eight years ago. That's my great hope, the aspiration that has flown like a buzzard circling, mewing, vigilant....
Compared to that other hopes are small, necessarily so. The novel that I've been working on. Learning to sing and, in due course, to play an instrument. Performing for the first time at a friendly festival....
Hope, always hope. I've lived, despaired and flown into exile. Today I'm in exile from exile. If I've learned one thing, it's to be hopeful. Indeed that lesson is cemented. I have hope.
The peculiar thing is that as I explore I find new viewpoints. The land seems bright and fresh, from time to time anyway. There are trails, and even familiar ways bring joy.
Now after a few days sheltering indoors just because it's raining outside I reproach myself. It's time to be out there, on the road, exploring and experiencing. It's time to grab hold of hope and exercise it.
It's time to take a good horse and ride....