this tonight is happiness

What you can't hear is the sea, wind and hail outside, or the fire inside (or the bum notes I was making earlier). 

What you can't see is the dog close by, and my grin.

What you can't smell, or taste,  is a good tomato and garlic sauce cooking for my pasta.

Those are enormous violets, and little wild roses from a huge hedge colony (no, I wouldn't normally pick wild flowers but I can't tell you about the synchronicity), grown outside in the West Cornwall micro-climate, in November.

Today, a few pages and an outline under my belt – this is The Book I've been not writing for years – and oh just a couple of poems.

However, I seem to have mislaid my intention to find a glass of wine. Oh and wait – I've mislaid the wine. Oh well.

And yes indeed, I know how very fortunate and blessed I am... I don't ever take that for granted.