One day I'll stop viewing the world through TS Eliot's words. Thankfully that day is not yet here:

There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

Today is my writing day. Visions and revisions, toast and tea. And in the company of Old Possum who laboured over words way back in 1915.

It feels like the past ten years never happened.