Fox on a Boat

I had an urge to start a new blog today. I somehow thought that it would make it easier for me because I had set my standards too high and I could start lower. But I already have two blogs and neither are well know. Yet. And then I figured, it is my blog. I do what I want! So if I don't want to stick to a theme that I doubt I ever even really had, so be it!  Last Sunday I went to Portsmouth with my friend of 16 years. I find it hard to be spontaneous, so I wanted to change that, and impulsively decided we should go to the sea, right now, and then we happily planned it for an hour and booked tickets a week in advance. As we approached the date, I became more and more excited, because I absolutely love the sea, and we had been having an almost Indian Summer and things were going to be fantastic and glorious, of course. Then they predicted a half good, half bad weekend. Saturday was amazing. I was in Edgware for the day, and it was cold-ish, but in a good, healthy, g...

Edward Thomas was born on the 3rd of March 1878 in Brixton, Lambeth and was an Anglo-Welsh writer of prose, turning to poetry only in 1914 after being encouraged to do so by Robert Frost, whom he met in 1913, and was to become very close to. So close, in fact, that he would become, in Thomas's eyes, the "saviour" he had once prophesied would help him: "I feel sure that my salvation depends on a person, and that person cannot be Helen [his wife] because she has come to resemble me too much." Edward Thomas reviewed books and was a respected biographer and literary critic, often reviewing up to 15 books every week, and spending many hours a day writing to earn enough to feed his family. He thought that poetry was the highest form of literature, and wrote his first five poems between the 3rd and 7th of December 1914, writing a total of 140 poems in just two years. In the summer months, as the war began, Thomas began to think of more than just poetry. As he walked...