Saturday Morning
The soft light from the desk lamp paints the keyboard. It is 11am, Saturday morning. For the first time in days I have no plans.
Google Mail reports that I have no unread messages. Katie Melua pours from the speakers and the remains of a cup of tea stands, dissipating it's heat into the late morning air.
Outside, small children play on the green while their parents make conversation on the park bench. Are they strangers? Will our adopted children become the gateway for us to meet new people too? Is this the lot of parents – for our circle to become that of our children?
Thoughts pass to those on the internet that I somehow count as friends. We have never met, and yet we exchange opinions, views, stories and experiences in much the same way as those in the real world.
Is the internet the real world?
Will the time invested in recording these thoughts be of worth in times to come? Is the function of a journal to rationalise thoughts for one's own sanity, or to share our life with others, and generations to come?
Perhaps there are no answers. Just the urge to write. A calling. And so I continue...