Today when I got up and breakfasted, then reached for the phone, instead of plugging myself into a round of Backgammon – where I am fighting a running and attritional battle against a CPU opponent with seemingly impossible luck and questionable strategies – I skipped across to the Keep app.
The intention this year is to get at least a few words down for the day, then paste these over into the WP app for further editing…

Already I can feel a glow of excitement tingling about, as plans for the weeks ahead take shape. Different working patterns develop. I see themes emerge fully formed in the interior vista, as if already fates accomplished in another world. A sense of giddiness at this, the implication of their preexistence, the unexplored temple plain from the vantage point at the mouth of the cave on the cliff above.
Getting ahead of myself, typically. And oh, hello, Breathy McVerbose in the house. Breathing technique is important. Somewhere once, I can’t recall if it was a diary or a published item, it occurred to me that the process – my process – of writing is like swimming underwater. Sensation of holding breath, sometimes.
Thinking of that verdant jungle scene spread ahead – rich with promise, mystery and potential danger – and to get myself back into a practical and more immediate dimension, I look up from the keypad and out of the back window. There is a garden project going on (=still more year ahead motif). This morning, the wind tousles the eucalyptus. The interminably grey and unseasonal weather of 2015 carries forward across our quaint monkey calendar: the last throes of Storm Frank, or the first of Gemma, or whoever it is this week, rasping susurrations of laughter at our claims to have abandoned animism for science.
The looming import of the tree, lower branches snarled up with some breed of tenacious vine that I have at least Made A Start On, reminds me there is a lot of digging, cutting and rearrangements to be done.