The patterns are dragging me down. I'm looking at them: tiny swirls in the wood of the computer table, imperfections in the walls of the study, regular stitches on a cross-stitch bookmark I made when I was ten ...
The midi keyboard looks at me. The black and white keys are so regular ... so precise.
The lines on the notebook watch me as I glare at them. Too many straight lines.
I long for the swirl of the patterns of nature, and long for the simplicity of a natural outline. I long for the soft, gentle edges of the lines that Mother Nature draws.
But I live in London. You don't get Nature there.