Shoots

Peeping out of from this raggedy bowl of earth is a tiny green shoot. It’s hard to spot but it’s there. I know because I planted it, watered it, went and poked it earlier today. Finally, it’s coming through, and its growth doesn’t seem to be dependent on the weather or the warmth. Suddenly there it is, this hardy little thing, a tiny tip unfurling from the deep.
That shoot was me last year, bedded down waiting to re-emerge, preparing for the reinvention that follows repatriation. At just the right time I popped my head above ground and the wait was worth it. By the time I unfurled the sun shone on my re-established workplace and friendship circle, and on the general hustle that is and always will be My London.
With patience and strength, regrowth has happened. A desk, a blank page, and a doggedly blinking cursor can strike terror into the heart of writers. For me, this is the best bit of the job: starting a fresh post, filling an empty page.
I love this new-shoot feeling and I just need watering now and then (tea and wine), regular visits (friends and family), and good food (eat out or dine in). The only way is up these days, for my small green bud and me.