Time. There’s never enough of it. That’s probably because life is too full of distractions. Or perhaps I simply have no energy at the moment for anything big. When I do snatch a few moments of peace I like to sit and observe the world and write flash fiction – or perhaps these should be called prose haikus – they can be read in a flash but I hope they linger in the mind
What I remember of the walk in Suffolk is this: black tree roots like the gnarled old fingers of lost giants, a broken silver birch fallen into a ditch, many reeds and sweet blackberries and the ground sandy-soft. I have forgotten the pain in my back and the irritations of paths wrongly taken.