Returning To Place

I am sitting at my desk, looking out at the roofs and tree tops in my back garden (well, the roofs are on the houses in other peoples gardens, but from here they all look like mine) and thinking again of how different it would be if I went to my yurt to write. A commonly told secret of 'good writing' is that you should engage all the senses and capture qualities associated with each one. Sitting here I am aware of the snickerty-snick of my husband typing into the Daily Beast (a forum he frequents) and the muffled sound of electrical humming from beneath my desk, as lead after lead sucks energy from the grid. I feel the squished faux leather of my chair meet my bum and thighs and the course, worn carpet irritating my toes. 
Many hours, days, weeks, months later, I find this unpublished Blog! I am intrigued by its 'almost' and 'unfinished' nature and recall precisely what it felt like when I was writing it the first time round! This time the sensations are different. My bare toes rest on a cold metal frame that sits beneath my desk; everything is the other way round for me since we cleared out the office, so no roof tops or sky or trees for me... It makes me think that some wall decorations are essential.. I will become dispirited from blank-wall-itis. Other people are in the house and talking to themselves, each other, their computers and mobile phones and, sometimes, me. It doesn't get any easier to concentrate and/or find space in this house. An anomaly of sensory overload is that it produces shut down and the result is creative paralysis. Only a Yurt-shaped bubble formed around my consciousness will help me now!
So this new/old blog is finished/goes on and symbolises the this/that of how things are changing. Utterly. And as they take shape, recognisable and true to what they've always been. 
Here is the secret: I will write and the rest will take care of itself.