A job or a hobby, an itch or obsession, something to dip in and out of according to the seasons or your whims. It can be wonderfully therapeutic to feel the soil between your fingers or the pen in your hand. Such a thrill to finally see the fruits of your labours: the food on the table; the words on the printed page. Yet the disappointments of both writing and gardening could have you climbing the walls in frustration, and often will.
*Not total, but forgotten: on my bookshelves I find
Black Rain Masuji Ibuse
Masks Yukio Mishima
Both now transferred to my To Be Reread pile!