The word winter is whispered in tight corners with no place to hide for them, us, me, myself and I......Jack and his army have a habit of finding those that go UGG..as the season turns...thus i shall whisper softly into the honey pot of Winnie-The-Poo.....Hoping this Winter he does not find me in the forlorn hope....and at least i can have a lick of honey stand on the bridge of the river of life and throw a few Poo sticks as i eyeball the summer and exchange a few words with my old freind...Winnie-The-Poo...
King Canute has given me funny looks these past summer months perhaps because i have not mentioned him much in this blank white space i come to comfort myself in and save my sanity from the mad world beyond this room...I did visit him sat on the Welsh Coast we tasted the cold Irish Sea exchanged a few words how the tide brings in more madness than it washes out we both sighed as we stared out to sea watching the waves roll in the tide turn, the tiny crabs race, the gulls call that wild sound which puts shivers down the spine even in the heat of the day...and the small children digging in the sand whom have all this to come the biff bash..in your face..for them we gave the biggest sigh knowing childhood is ever becoming a trinket each year....
As for my old Friend the Last Samurai..well that can only be So Goeth for tonight...Whom ever passes this way tonight..Love and Peace...
