Fiction Friday

I’m not a gardener.

I sometimes kid myself that I am.


But that only lasts as long as the nice weather does.

Real gardeners tend to be out there in all weathers.

They nurture,  they tend,  they nurse.

They dont just bung the plants in and hope for the best.


But sometimes.


Bunging in and leaving the rest to nature?




This Week I Have Mostly Been Reading

Walking Home by Sonia Choquette.

Which isnt a work of fiction.

Not exactly.

When her marriage breaks down and she unexpectedly suffers 2 bereavements,  Sonia Choquette decides to undertake an 820km pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago. This book describes her journey- physical,  mental and spiritual- and the stories of the people she met along the way.

I am trying to be yogic and non judgemental about this.

But this is a woman who sees fairies.

Who puts her crippling blistered feet down to the workings of Spirit

rather than the fact she bought her walking boots a couple of days before starting her walk and didn’t wear them in.

And who knows?

Perhaps the Spirit does move in mysterious ways.

But,  in spite of being slightly deranged,  (must not judge,  must not judge),  Choquette is an endearing character.

And her descriptions of battling with her experiences,  her expectations and her self are fascinating and honest.

We all need some time away from the stress and busyness of life in order to remind ourselves of who we really are.

Most of us just dont need the fairies to help us find it.

Next Week I Shall Mostly Be Reading

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman.

A book about a grumpy middle aged bloke.

Obviously a work of fiction then.



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