This is why my hands were so chilly.
Some have noticed, quietly at least, diminished output in other avenues. But this is the strange place about happy. Sometimes you don’t want to write all that much.
But I’m oddly quiet right now and I have been feeling and recalibrating and shifting expectations and moving things about my head, worrying an ulcer in my mouth and then getting ready for sleep. In about five and a half seconds after I close the lid on this laptop.
It’s good to be home. I love the quiet and the noise through the wall. I love my big bed and the fresh sheets. I love the light in the morning. I love this, my excavation tool.
It was good to be home. I loved my friends and even my family from time to time in ways to ways. I can see those streets, I can feel the wind, I remember those houses that I lived in. I felt my self intrinsic to a city and a space and then I threw down my tools and let the city build itself back up around me.
Thank you to Going Down Swinging for letting me part of such an amazing endeavour. Do look at their pretty new place on the line.
My friend B is drawing a line in the sand. My friend S is drawing a line in the sad. My friend H is drawing a line in with fish on it. My friend N is drawing a bow and loosing and arrow. My friend M is drawing conclusions. My friend not Soul Rebel is drawing a white wall, with a white portrait, of a white swan.
I am looking forward to the launch of the Queensland Poetry Festival.
eleanor j jackson 
