Where have I been? I’ve been climbing mountains, not metaphoric mountains, but real ground, rocky, tree and shrub bearing mountains. I’ve been sitting in the middle of forests, listening to what my senses tell me. For nature is all I need.
Why don’t I write anymore? Let me ask you this, what is the point in writing?
Whatever I write has already been written. There are so many different languages and writings in this world already. So is there really a point in writing, when these words will be redundant and forgotten?
Instead I’m more fascinated by reading these different writings across the world that I can relate to. At times translations can be troublesome but it is worth the knowledge gained.
Maybe if I have something to share with the world that hasn’t already been shared, I’ll write again.