It's not that time is rushing, because it isn't. In fact, I sometimes feel like time has never passed so slowly since Little M was born. Each second seems new and strange, and something to adjust to. I'm grateful for the apparent change in pace, for I can savour each delightful moment in its fullness (both length and depth, for time is not just linear).
And, when I can, I sketch.
In time, I want to focus on writing as well. And I was thinking of writing a series of posts on journalling. Would that be of interest to anyone?
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