I'm writing a lot in longhand these days, scribbling in notebooks, making rambling lists, old ideas resurrected, new ones falling onto the page like embers from the campfires of the gods. I pull out journals from a year ago, two years ago, five. So many pages, all smelling of woodsmoke.
For the past two nights I've been watching the strange and poetic Bob Dylan biopic I'm Not There, a film as inscrutible as a dozen Dylan songs. It has taken two viewings for it to come into focus for me, and I'll probably watch it at least once more before sending it back to the video store.
February: the inscrutible month.
So what will you do today? Will you go be awesome? Will you be remarkable?
Tell me how it goes. I'll be here, with all these pages, and all these bits of ash.