Here, where I type, there is a gentle buzz of voices and very soon I will cross the wide room to bring this week's order to shelves of novels. Here, where I type, if you could listen with that particular ear, you would hear voices of countries and characters and journeys from far and near. Although what is near to me here, where I type, may be far from you there, where you read. And what is far to me here, where I type, may be near to you. I'll think of that as I move the author beginning with S from the shelf beginning with D. They've probably had more than enough of Twits and Witches by now anyway.
So far today in my here I have been reading and scribing and encouraging and discussing and supervising and emailing and preparing, so this is a little hiatus of gentle buzz and gentle air before I order and tidy and then spend the afternoon downstairs in another wide room. There will be colour and fun and chat and the subliminal push to stay on target but to do it in so jolly a way that you will hopefully not notice that you are working at all.
And then another week will come to its abrupt end with a bell and a rush and a push and a drive home along the coast road listening to professional gardeners advising amateur gardeners on matters completely too hard for me, but their words will announce two days to me of not here, but there.
