Return Of The Native
It’s been a long time. Since I was here. In the place I called home. Virtually.
Stuff has passed, water on its way to the sea, under bridges, bursting its banks, flooding lands once dry. And fires have flamed and smouldered and smoked vast swathes of land once: safe. Whatever that means. It’s notional isn’t it? Safety.
A sickness gripped the world. Clever humans developed ways of arresting its relentless decimation of the population. Abating it sufficiently that people feel somewhat secure again.
Unless they are in a war zone. We have too many of those. One is one too many.
I continue to be somewhat: rootless. I’ll try to find a foothold again. Here. And if you want to you can read along with my nonsense as once before you may have done. Or join me for the first time. We can have fun, we can laugh we can have moments of reflection, moments of despair. We can embrace as community.
And what can you expect? In this resurrection of sorts. Each week or thereabouts a feature on a place that I am, or have been: ‘Round My Parts’. Monthly an invited guest: ‘Round Their Parts’. The recognisable random mix of renovations and observations, of places and people and politics and poetry and occasionally a meal shared. But mostly simply a place for me to ramble and write and sometimes to review the work of others, to showcase their poetry, their stories. Maybe mine too.
So welcome, or welcome back: let the whatever unfolds commence. I’ll be back on Monday with a first, hopefully not a last, post.
PS: The ever present PS. The title is benignly borrowed from Thomas Hardy. It feels appropriate, simply as an exercise in word placement.
