A season of intemperate brain squall, of which all one can say is that it will pass, like weather. The late bluebells are nice.
The bluebell remark is really to indicate a disinclination to communicate anything of substance right now. I could speculate on the reasons for this, but then I would be communicating something of substance. Heigh ho. My inner (is there an outer?) introvert seems to be in the ascendant, pressing me, perhaps, to husband my resources for various tasks I have laid on myself. I have made this sound a little heavy, but they are tasks that I wish to engage with wholeheartedly and with as much strength as I can bring to them.
When a theatre is between one production and the next, I think it is described as being "dark", and this is one of those times in the Theatre of Signs.
Be seeing you sooner or later.