Bliss is, after a day and a night away, hanging out with a puppy delighted to be reunited with you.

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My time is measured in cigarette breaks, dog walks, funerals, glasses of wine, essay-reading, paragraph-writing, concerts at the local art centre, items ticked off my to-do list, and the number of birds at my feeder. Who am I but a set of repeated actions and a trail of words, mostly disjointed, in a planner, diary, a small notebook? Relief from the usual is the spontaneous act of kindness, the moment of beauty in a familiar landscape, the jokes and stories told over a pint. My old exhausted shell splits open: I discover some kinetic, alive part of my self and, rejuvenated, I awake to the possibilities of life.

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