My dearest readers, it's been too long. Far too long since I sat here and wrote something colourful or shared a recipe.
Skies are already lighter in the late afternoon, ground that was impenetrable yields to the fork like rich chocolate cake, falling in succulent earthworm blessed clods.
I long to turn the soil and swing my arms like a girl. I'd like to sprinkle some seeds on Finley's wild meadow in the allotment.
My body wants to run, but a sore neck keeps me slow and tender. I'm starting a course of treatment with a chiropractor to unlock half a lifetime of leaning forward to catch the moment a second sooner. When I walk the top of me arrives first.
After the initial adjustment I felt as light as air, as tipsy as a champagne waiter who likes to join in. I held my head in it's new position like a glass bauble.
When the aching set in the next day it was all I could do not to lie in a heap on the floor and cry. I felt as though someone had yanked a few vertebrae out, leaving sand in their place. Longing to slump, I held myself in this new strange position, unable to go back, my body aching to return to the safety of old twisted ways. All I could think about was sliding into a warm Epsom Salt bath and a fluffy bathrobe, but our rented house is bath-less, with only a vintage shower where the tub should be.
I have a little something to write about Studland Bay and recipes for nut milk and bread that I will share when my neck settles down.
In the meantime, send me a virtual massage and a bathtub. x x x