not the last post - looking backward
Sometimes I think about ending the blog. From time to time my enthusiasm wavers. Sometimes I blog weekly, sometime monthly. Sometimes I think about ending it. But I realize I'm not ready to quit just yet. Ideas for posts flow into my mind, turning into words as I sit at the screen and type. I enjoy this process. Without the blog, what would I do with the ideas? Or maybe I'd stop having ideas?
One of the best aspects of blogging is making cyber-friends. But you've got to basically blog for yourself, I believe. Too much focus on numbers makes blogging stressful - for me, anyway. I read somewhere that even if only one person gets something out of a post, that's enough.
Yesterday I was putting the washing out, and noticed a tiny little hairy caterpillar walking along one of the lines. It was walking purposefully, across what was, for it, a huge precipice. I wondered how it got there, why it was alone, and where it was going. Last night it rained hard, and I wondered if it found food and shelter, and survived the rain. When I saw it I thought of grabbing my camera, but the caterpillar was so small, the chance of getting a good photo was slight. So I just watched, and am painting the picture in words. I realize I want a blog so I can share experiences like this.
I also want a blog so I can share photos of diverse and precious nature experiences. The top photo is of a ladybird on my car's windscreen. The next four are of my garden. The last two photos are of the pond in the Aged Care facility where my mother lived.
Sometimes I'm just not into my blog. There is a life outside blogging. When I'm not here, in this special virtual place, the blog is still here, suspended in that weird space we call cyberspace, available for access to anyone who wants to visit, including me ...
It's the morning after I wrote the post above, and only days after the killings in Paris. I wonder uncomfortably if I should be writing about that situation, or at least not ignoring it. The world seems to have pockets of peace amid islands of chaos and suffering. What happened in Paris was horrendous. But they at least will be named and recognized, unlike civilians killed and injured in countries like Syria, who are not counted or featured in the western media. I don't really want to write about this. Plenty of other people are doing that. I tell myself that the natural environment is the arena in which war and human suffering exist, and it's OK to focus on the garden and nature. I know it is really ... but ... the doubts creep in.