In passing

This week I was told (by someone who is ninety) that live is not a marathon, but a sprint. We are only at the beginning of January, but I feel everything becomes a bluer again. Sometimes I am simply amazed how much information we have to understand, digest and file somewhere for future use. So sometimes; in between running around, it is a pleasure to find small hours to myself; to escape and play; to dream and invent. Sorry, sometimes I might forget to send an email or two... but there is always next week.