I do really like the white blank page of a brand new year, you can put the troubles of the previous year to bed, tuck them up tight and say night, night.
Today I walked down through the old kissing gate, down the track and out across the fields heading out towards the victorian midden. It was raining a bit, but by the time I got to the track heading up the hill towards the midden, it had stopped.
Not many people were about, I think the rain keeping them tucked up in their houses.
My magpie tendencies meaning the least little thing to catch my eye, comes home in my pockets.
I've developed a bit of a thick skin to my strange treasure seeking ways, you get the odd looks from passers by, if there happen to be any. The victorian Midden is covered over mostly with a carpet of Moss and Ivy, I don't suppose most people even know of its existence, or maybe it doesn't interest them at all.
They must think I'm completely batty, I think, bits of twig in my hair covered in mud, scrabbling around in the earth, but I just can't resist digging around in the dirt.
I like the beauty of the discarded and unwanted.
The possibilities of these lost fragments of beauty.
Oh the possibilities, so much to think about, to discover, to wonder
what where they dancing around?