Away down the Close is Home

 

The Grassmarket...slightly more photogenic than the Cowgate

We have found a place to live, in a building of some age (300 years old is the best guess so far) on a cobbled offshoot down into the subterranean underbelly that is the Cowgate, reaching up into the light of Nicholson St. The floorboards of the flat creak and slope, the original fireplaces are stuffed with church candles…and we are perfectly situated to listen in on the never ending stream of after-dark ghost tours.  It is perhaps to suitably gothic, and measures should be taken – reading matter chosen carefully to be heartier, day-time stuff. Still going with Proust, but suggestions are welcome.

 

But as for me, I haven’t written anything yet, not since I last posted about having done so, in mid August. Too long, the murmur and buzz of ideas demands work be done, soon. Soon. Life in transition is hard on writing time, but wonderful for inspiration…

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Filed under consolations of reading, Scotland, The Now

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