THE FARM

No great lumps of prose. No meanderings through the mind of David Lewis. Instead some pictures from the last year.

GOING AWAY

I am leaving the farm, or more accurately, the farm is leaving me. Much of it is already gone. The lovely old stables to my left have disappeared, to be replaced by a new house that has wedged itself in like a huge fat bully in the centre seat of an airplane. The barn in front is being dismantled and rebuilt in a more 'modern' style, and the beautiful and ancient fig tree behind me has just been destroyed. And, the coup de grace, the wall protecting my vegetable garden was ripped away and my plants are now wilting in the wind. It's no longer a place to go and spend a few quiet hours cajoling the tomatoes into greater productivity.

All thoughts of silence to let me write are long gone, and I have taken a leaf out of Steven King's book and now work with 70s music blasting through a headset. It reminds me of when I was a young man and transports me away from here. To my astonishment, I've been very productive.

So, I am leaving. Not right away, but soon. By nature I am something of a timid creature, which is why I am constantly surprised to find myself in strange situations. It seems I was forever tear-assing around the States in my beloved pickup truck, or wandering off to foreign countries like Portugal, where I now live. Where next? I do not know. The next step in my life is a mystery. But then, it always was.