Bikes, Rose and Options

Every available vase in my house is stuffed with roses. I love that.
It is evening here and I have a migraine creeping around the back of my eyes. However, I was so restless that I have ended up here, in my new favourite room of the house.

I can sit here and watch things like the neighbour's kids sneaking into the garden to retrieve their soccer ball, the washing draped in the sunshine, roses on fluffed up against the fence, broadbeans sagging, etc etc.

Am wondering about what this writing here is all about, what it is for? Because here, in this virtual space, I am really conscious that I have lost my goalposts: or rather, that I cannot judge how far away, or how close, I am too them. Quite an odd feeling.

There is a lot of tangibly good stuff going on in my immediate sphere and I am trying to consciously practice 'joyousness' (just been flicking through the old I Ching) but still feel suspension. Which, if I dredge the old Science class memory, is a beaker of clear liquid with mud/grit/substance on the bottom.

I remember sitting in Firenze and feeling the same way. That something was going to shift into go go go gear any day now but it just wasn't quite ready.

Stir it up?
Get earthed in garden and home?
Be patient?
Be impatient?

Or get on my bike?

ah, that would be it.

That beautiful aqua Repco number with one brake and a basket on the back.