Progress, maybe.

Striding neck deep in Accounting software, advertising campaign calculations, stuffed giant courgettes, a crying cat, record label negotiations, electronic goods dissection and simple coloring picture production. I stop and feel the strong pull of the tide. It’s going out.

Writing a poem, a story, a game. Sharing a thought, sharing my shame. Cosmic existentialism carving time out of a cold stone statue. I turn against the tide and wade thickly toward the sparkling sand, where beauty awaits, shells in hand. Forest shades me from noon-day sun, as I laugh and dry off. It’s time for some fun.