"Sometimes I sits and thinks; and sometimes I just sits"

 This was one of my mother's favourite quotes and she used it often. It may be from Huck Finn or sich, but I rely on my lit pals to help me out if it is. It'll probably turn out to be Popeye.

But here I am on the beach at 5am and have been up and sitting since 4.30. Thank you, steroids; the cheque's in the post.

I used to always read books down here but this year I'm finding that the sitting and thinking (or not) is great fun and I wish I'd done more of it earlier. And you can all benefit from it (or not, of course, if you find the wanderings of a 65-year old but very attentive mind not your style)

I will probably post every day here. It won't all be dark, but wander I will. 

And to give content to this one and interest to  particular offspring (you probably know who you are but I don't mind how many of you claim it) I was wondering " what am I doing when I sit here thinking?". Am I just remembering? Am I putting past events together in novel ways to make new things? Am I doing the Wordsworth 'recollection of emotion in tranquility (and it's certainly tranquil)? Or is it about constructing the self here (mine mainly, but from one point of view also yours!). It's certainly an enjoyable feeling and in this case it also has a concrete product in the words that I am writing. Or maybe the writing is the thinking, because it's not the same as what prompted it.

Light thoughts on a summer morning, just before dawn.