To Baldly go where no Druid has gone before

There is something very appealing about a balding man right? Right? Right? After all, I myself have a bald patch solar panel for a sex machine... why is my wife falling around in hysterics now? What did I say? Honestly, you can't trust a woman witch to allow you any dignity at all.

 

Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by the snorting and cackling of my good lady wife, there is something very appealing about a balding man...or so I'm told.

Which is why I had a go at these two. 

 Don't let anyone tell you I was just being lazy and not bothering to do hair because that's just not true. Honest. Would I lie to you?

 

    



 

 

 

Besides if I don't do hair, I have to do ears, and believe me, they are fiddly little blighters.

I've actually really enjoyed carving these two distinguished gentlemen, and I'm much happier with their faces. I learn something new every time, but then that's what's fun about carving -and indeed life- we learn, and adapt, as we go along.

 

 

 

 

Hibernation of the Human Kind

Winter has been long this year. Spring has tentatively reared its head some days only to retreat again from the wind and rain and frost. Thankfully there was no snow here, and my old bones are very grateful for that. The birds outside my window sing of promise and new life, and the frogspawn in the tiny garden pond hints at a warming I've seldom felt, yet so many of the signs of winter's end are late this year.

 

The lighter nights have brought little warmth, and the chill cloak that wrapped around my shoulders with the November mists has not been shaken off. The quiet days, the dark days, the cold days, have lingered long and all around me folk are awaking from slumber all bemused. Like a bear rising to find deep snows and no food, the human spirit is starving for the want of spring.

 

We humans have a hibernation of sorts. There is no retreat from the daily grind as we exist protected from the cold by our heated homes, and no shortage of food as supermarkets stock their shelves day and night, but the dark still draws us in. We retreat from the world in thousands of tiny ways, often without even knowing it. Those of us in tune with the tides of life use that slow time, the still time, to rest, to think, to dream. Winter is a time for thought, not action; it is a time for recuperation ready for regeneration; it is a time to draw within and be still. 

 

Which is great...until every fibre of your being is screaming 'Is it spring yet?' but you still have to scrape frost off your windscreen in the mornings, or wade through snowdrifts to get to the corner shop, or still have your central heating turned up well past the Vernal Equinox.

 

My mind is feeling that wake up call, that urge to create, to do stuff, to get out there; my body, on the other hand, still wants to hide under the duvet and wait for the sun.