Posting Pointlessly.

Summer made a premature visit to the Shire today. I doubt she will stay long, but at least she persuaded the bluebells in the wood at the top of the lane to burst forth and join their vernal companions, the white wood anemones, in heralding the blessed season of abundance.

I mentioned those two old friends in a story I wrote once called The Gypsy Rover. It’s over on the other blog somewhere. It tells the story of a dark gypsy character who can only be seen by the village bum, and who might or might not be responsible for the mysterious death of one Jamie Green. Jamie’s body is found entangled in the dead branches of a fallen tree, you see, and there’s no obvious way he could have got there. Neither is there any obvious cause of death, leading to the eponymous gypsy being cast as both the prime suspect and also the most unlikely. And then a dark figure is seen in the shadow of a wall one night by Jamie’s widow; and someone is whistling the tune to an old folk song called The Gypsy Rover; and it might be the gypsy, or it might be Jamie’s ghost, or it might be neither. You never get to find out. Ha.

I felt better tonight than I did last night. I didn’t fall asleep with my head on the desk and see flashing red lights which suddenly stop just as I’m puzzling over what they might be. And I’m only writing this post to keep myself amused while I wait to become tired enough to go to bed. There’s no other point to it at all.