It’s odd, isn’t it, that you can go six months without seeing a familiar number plate, and then you see it twice in the space of two days. It’s that old universe conveying messages again, and I think I know what it means this time. I feel the last verse of Raglan Road coming on. But it’s pleasing that I’m making an enigmatic blog post, having not done so for quite a while. I’ve missed it. It used to be a speciality of mine during the blog’s middle period.
And today I told Mel about the dark haired woman, the all black clothes, the paintbrush and the black Labrador dog. She was quite intrigued, and said she wondered whether this was the person going around painting the black patches on the Friesian cows. I wish I’d thought of that.
In other news, I spent some time today writing quite a long post about a Hopi Indian chief and the subject of spirituality. I felt strongly moved to write it because it seemed important. I got so far and then left it, meaning to finish and post it tonight. When tonight came I’d completely lost interest. Happens all the time.
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