The sky gets slowly…

The sky gets slowly brighter, and the teakettle steams. Harp and pennywhistle playing, e-mail to answer, work to do. A book waits on my desk, with three more behind it. Clean, warm clothes from the dryer. Friends a phone call away. Time to water the plants, take a walk, read Calvin and Hobbes. Does life get better than this?

9:35 - Carole Maso's Ghost Dance. A book with weight and texture. Novel or prose poem? This was difficult to read, for various reasons. Shaded with grief. Unfolding into layers and levels. At times I wanted to put it down, to walk away. It was worth staying with. I am overly sentimental, so remember that when I say this story made me cry. Oddly enough, it is the mother, Christine Wing, whom I think I will remember, not the narrator. I do not know if this is what the author intended.

2:15 - For the first time in perhaps a year, perhaps longer, all my mail boxes are empty. There are no letters waiting to be answered. The guilt is gone, gone I tell you!

There is, of course, more work to be done...but this is an accomplishment, no matter that it will likely not last more than ten minutes. I shall revel in it.

10:00. A poem dragged me from my bed. They didn't warn me about this when I applied to be a writer.

Do you know that some days
you rush through me,
the letters of your name
tumbling and flowing,
sunlight on the river,
appearing, disappearing, dancing.

A whisper in the back of my throat;
a lazy, warm caress.

Some days, you are not far away
at all.

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