I am unable to write. I am unable to think. My eloquence is lost. The urge has faded. Something has changed and I have moved into the middle period. The early period is one in which everything is carefully planned. The form is crafted and the content fills in. A sense of structure pervades and one proceeds in a state of conviction. There is a need to account for decisions made. But since last summer I find that the urge and the activity itself have become more natural. It is carried out without thought. And the logic has gone as well. I don’t know what the form will be as I plod along without knowledge - and without the need for confidence. Happy or sad, whatever. There is now nothing to lose.

Is this the Silent Valley?

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