I write sometimes, mother most times, study as required, read always. In between the normality of life with school age kids, and the need to earn a living and be vaguely respectable, we travel. Travel to see family, travel to explore, travel to escape, or at least do something novel with the sands of time that slip inexorably through the hour glass.
Life will flow past you, if you are not careful. It’s precious and fleeting, and is not a rehearsal. But for a moment in the vast history of existence we have sentience, we can look around at the world, at the stars and at our own existence, and wonder. So, what you pay attention to matters.
I write most about holidays and the angst of being a mother without a manual. Both are a privilege (not the angst bit, the being a mother and travel bit). Sometimes I write poetry, but only when those words flow into my head, poems mostly fully formed.