We have a for sale sign attached to the front of our house, and it is an odd sight indeed to see- knowing it is going on the market and actually putting it on the market are two different things entirely.
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I just blew a layer of dust off of this page.
Writing and upkeep of any site has not been at the forefront of life right now.
March was mad and twisty and sideways, April a keyboard of busy punching out letters and lines and time so fast I really couldn’t keep up.
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Last week I wrote about flying sideways during this season in life. The sun was out, the birds were coming back, I wrapped myself in spring and used her as my muse.
This week winter has arrived outside my window.
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Past mid-March already and the first day of spring.
The days of this month are sliding sideways, sometimes rubbing against one another getting a little stuck, sometimes slipping on past. Too quick to realize.
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
One of the things that I love about poetry is that in the span of just a few short stanzas and phrases an entire story can be told.
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March is here and its time for spring cleaning- not that springtime will be appearing in Alaska anytime soon, it’s -2 degrees as I write these words.
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Inspiration is a mercurial thing. One moment its winds come whipping upon you, pushing you forward to new waters. The next, gone, dead in the sea, wondering which way to go and why you got on the boat in the first place.
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I used to think that writing a book would somehow be the pinnacle of writing. And for a long time it was. Books escaped me despite my best efforts at beginning them. I’d sit down to put one together, feel daunted by the task, and not get past page one of a good idea.
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How do any of us separate and distinguish ourselves from the incessant flow of information we run into daily?
I find myself trying to take more space lately. Turning off the news.
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