The orange dots on the black square screen click quicker than I can blink. I know I've got 5 minutes until the 270 bus arrives at my stop. That's just 5 minutes to say something worth writing about. 5 minutes before the daily routine of the 8:07 bus comes roaring up the hill and hissing - it stops; puffing at this usual spot. I pause to think. A man stops by. Looks at me writing, and then up at the black square screen. Now 4 minutes. There's just too much to say to in 6 long months. Lots of stories. Lots of times when after silly things have happened and I've sat in the quiet and said - 'Now that would have been a great blog post'. I smile. The man looks away quickly. 3 minutes. Wow - hasn't that gone fast? Though, I suppose, so has 6 months - filled to the brim with a new job, a new house and everything else in between... A sort of hibernation, maybe? Storing up my stories over the winter to let them burst out in the middle of May like these unexpected rain showers. Then again. They just as quickly stop, don't they? Now, I'm stealing 5 minutes in the morning. I glance up. 1 minute. I'm cutting out a little bit of the hours that are set so strong, to scribble in a notebook. At the bus stop. Well, it might be more of a scribble than substance - but I'm writing again.