got that heartbeat, that rhythm in me saying “be still, be still”. i thought it was saying “keep going, keep going” but i was wrong. somehow, even in my little alcove in london, i’ve got that slow itch to stop. i thought i only found it in the wide open spaces where everything in me could slow down and open up and fill the crevices in the cliffs. not so. the sky is still big here as i ring my teacher from the living room, watching the sun set behind the clouds, lighting them up orange. feet in woolly socks (knitted just for me!) on the heater. it’s cold here, cold is allowed to mean slow. slow isn’t stopped. it’s just mulling things over, sorting them out in the background. i am allowed to take my time. who cares about a new year when there’s the here and now. time will always pass, it just depends how we fill it.