From the Desk of Bee Drunken

The seasons have gone by faster than usual this year, my daughter said to me as we were walking down a narrow, mud-slippery lane.
Not quite 14 is my daughter; have enough years gone by for her to utter this commonplace?
But then I reflected:   perhaps she doesn’t speak of time at all, in the sense of a seasonal round that seems to speed up with every passing year, but rather of the word that she actually uses.  Seasons, not time. The seasons – their expected shape,...

From the sculpture gallery at Chatsworth
Many bloggers (who I greatly admire) have explained that their blog is a space for counting blessings, for appreciating simple pleasures, for capturing moments of beauty.   I completely understand that; this is our chance to show our best side. Many...

My youngest daughter at Chatsworth

An entire season of months has ebbed, and so many thoughts and experiences have just dried up and blown away . . . rather like the leaves, which are being shed with dispatch now that it is November.

It seems like about a minute ago that we were plunging into summer . . . and now August is already looming.
So many important experiences have just been waves on the sand:  roll on, relentless time.
I've been on a blog vacation -- not by any plan or design, but just because I haven't had the time/space to order my thoughts.  Many years ago I had a dream of becoming a journalist, but one of the many flaws of that career plan is that I need time and...