Isolated as I am, from the nightly hypnotic lure of the television, I lie back and from the cosy stretched out comfort of the fireside my own narcotic takes hold.
Self administered stupor. The fire flares occasionally as new wood is overcome. It mesmerises but serves not to distract, adding to the air of relaxation, sweeping clean the floors of the imagination and setting fertile the stage of the unencumbered mind.
Words are few; thoughts random and surprised. Twist and shape and set free, sometime seen off into open fields where winds lift and scatter. Distant echoes.