It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.... (Walt Whitman)

i just got back from three weeks in my seaside world. the southern village where i grew up. 

where the mouth of a river kisses the pacific ocean. my mother was very sick and i went home to help her.

filling my lungs with wintery air and the wheelbarrow with wood, lighting the fire, feeding the tail-less cat called gypsy.

i also went walking nearly every day. delighting to my very soul in the beauty round every corner,

down every road and in every direction....i simply can't manage to be that motivated or inspired in the city...

but in the country i packed rhubarb crumble and dried ginger and apricots, muddied my boots, climbed fences,

flirted with horses and sometimes took my top off - but never my hat!