Currently, I cannot do terribly much. It is a good thing, to sit back and just wait to heal. I have the time to reflect, I have moments to seize and seconds to contemplate.
All the books I now have time to read, old favourites to revisit like forgotten memories who drop in for an unexpected coffee. Revel in the beauty of Thomas Hardy, cling to the edge of reason with Doyle, puzzle with Agatha Christie and savor the marvelous delights of Verne. I can be a detecting, dancing shepherd on a delicious island of dreams. Welcome, my papered friends, you have been missed.
History beckons and I can set my pen to paper once again, fill up my neglected notebooks with ideas of tales still to tell. Yet I need time to heal. So I shall instead let my thoughts dance in a myriad of quiet halls and instead make no plans for tomorrow. Today is a beautiful day to just listen to the birds sing.