I'm still feeling quiet. You'll probably have noticed me writing less frequently too. It's all part of it.
Not that there haven't been things to write about! Yesterday, for example, I surprised myself by ranting about how ridiculous high heels are.
"Do you wear them often?" asked Erica, laughing. I flushed red.
"Only at weekends," I joked, though I was mildly embarrassed that I hadn't realised my engineered diatribe about how nature had given us a perfectly suitable foot with ample width to support our mass, and how reducing the surface area and bending your legs out of shape was both preposterous and perilous... had given her the impression that I actually wear them and was complaining out of experience.
Then there was the conversation about whether vegetarianism is a label or a lifestyle. That had started because my sister was protesting about the price of chicken.
There was even a sunset I could have written about, not to mention the recent disaster in a tower block in London, about which I tried a poem. I sat in the park feeling a bit lost for words, to be honest.
Nope. Just quiet, and still learning how to listen.
I reckon I'll get lots of opportunities to listen over the next week: I'm going on holiday with the Intrepids. My Dad likes to read everything he sees... out loud. It's amusing with road signs and notice boards. I'm just praying we don't encounter anyone with comedy t-shirts while we're out walking through the Welsh mountains.
It'll do me good though, I hope. It feels timely - there is a lot to tackle when I get back. And I will need to be listening.
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