It’s that in-between time when summer is past, but autumn is not yet in glory.  An in-between time for me too.  For the first time, I am restless; but there is still a strong sense that it is too soon, too soon to make space for tension or to choose to think.

So I spent the morning at the botanic gardens, looking at the butterflies.  Later, I will go to the shops, then do some washing and bake a cake.  Tomorrow too, I suspect.  But next week?  Well, maybe it’s time.  A book?  A thought?  A brief consideration of how to use the jubilee year?  Perhaps.

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