my computer won't upload a photo this morning.
i am chosing not to fight it.
but there does seem to be a nakedness about this post
which is unsettling.
images speak for me often
do you hear what they are saying-
or is it just me?
"it doesn't have to be the blue iris,
it could be weeds in a vacant lot,
or a few small stones; just pay attention,
then patch a few words together
don't try to make them elaoborate,
this isn't a contest
but the doorway into thanks"
there is a growing desire in me to write.
this terrifies and exhilarates me at the same time.
perhaps i will share them one day.
i know nothing about the mechanics of poetry
but they are drawing me in.
slowly and gently.
and i find myself scribbling on scraps of paper and in notebooks.
even my iphone notes app holds two now.
last night the storm forced words out of me
in the wee hours of the night.
i couldn't not write them down.
(how weird is that)
"this isn't a contest
but the doorway into thanks."
i get that.