i haven't written for quite a while. maybe the odd poem, not much. my mind is as still and quiet as a fresh snowdrift.
was a time, when words and ideas ran around inside my head, yabbering to be let out. no peace until release!
hmmm, those days are gone, i can listen to the silence now and be still. silence is perhaps not the correct word for the ringing, echoing cricket chirps which accompany my every waking moment ...
so why today?
am i inspired to write by the first day of spring?
or have i reached a somewhere in my now which calls for a little wondering?
doors closing, windows opening, dreams vanished, future promise.
life is so wonderfully unknown, so mysterious in the dark and light of it all. the unexpected triumphant, one sureness in the chaos of living.
He Is Home
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I should really close my closet doors but no one sees our bedroom except
for me and (sometimes, when he's home) Mr. Moon and Maurice.
Oh, Dorothy Anne a...
10 hours ago