Revisiting my blog after what seems like an eternity, is a surreal experience. Even logging into the platform that hosts it reveals much has changed (although thankfully the fundamentals seem intuitive enough and the editor visuals seem largely cosmetic).
I'm minded to think of my childhood haunts on the edge of Cold Comfort Woods in Alcester - they too, were sanctuaries of mine. I'd usually find a place alongside the Spittlebrook that ran alongside the dirt track leading to the woods that was lined by trees. The gentle flow of the stream coupled with the wind softly blowing the btanches were a source of tranquility and a place for me to mull over my thoughts... much like this place was when I first set it up.
Here's the thing though; from time to time I neglected those places for one reason or another (busy school or work schedule, places to go and people to see), but I always came back... I never forgot them. Sometimes I'd have to clear the place out and make them accessible by pushing through thorns and brambles, or occasionally get a helping hand from mother nature where deer had crossed the stream from the other side and forged new places I could use.
I guess that sometimes this place can be like that. I may go away for long periods be it through distraction, priorities or being lost in my thoughts.... but it always here. My reasons when I come back are diverse (on this occasion I want to voice my thoughts on a topic and I want to see where it will end up if I just push the big red button and publish it.
Sometimes when I do, like an archeologist it feels like I've stumbled through a cavern or underground tunnel that breaks open into the works I have fashioned in this place... the whispers of words I have spoken or pondered in the past... the treasury of memories and dreams long forgotten, and the echo of hopes resounding off the walls.
But they aren't forgotten... they are always waiting for me and whoever wonders among them, only slightly veiled beneath the surface and awaiting rediscovery.
Even now I'm reminded about a piece I wrote several years ago concerning digital footprints and how what we write online might be here long after our time in some format... and that our words are a witness to our thoughts and feelings... that how we may think time and tide erase those things and consign them to the shades of lost memory... science has proven that even prehistoric footprints can be recovered.
So here I am again weilding my machete and chopping dow overgrown roots and branches, brushing off the dust and uncovering all the things that went before... thinking what needs to be added next. Sometimes I think a refit helps these processes, like the Doctor's TARDIS having different "scrensaver" modes.
Let's see what the future holds.
