A Petal This Morning
2025.01.06
2025.01.06
Good morning, that wonderful way.
Another one... A day!
Hip-hip-hooray or blankets up and overhead 'leave me alone I'm sleeping,' morning.
Time to fly, big guy.
About time, too. You've been on the ground too long. Gotta stretch those wings once in a while, gotta dream in the sky not just of it, once in a while.
A good day for something new.
Like that dream you've been having, the one that won't let you go, time for that next step towards it.
Sun's still a few hours from showing here. Spring wakes him a little earlier every morning, though.
Wintertime is vacation time for the star; he sleeps in.
Slow insistent words this morning, maybe pushing for keys. For now, press on pen, press on.
It's good to see you when seeing is finally a feasible friendly thing to do.
Quite humbly frankly, a world that spends so much effort to keep a guy like me in the dark isn't a world worth much.
Words on dreams, peace, equality, even love poetry, should be embraced not erased.
I'd tell the world it breaks my heart if anyone could read the words.
You're so much better than your ignorance of these lines.
So, so much better.
I'll tell you again one day, and you'll agree, and I'll hear and read the agreement.
Until one day, on with the words.
A big change in the air.
Sometimes we wish for Spring to do her thing.
All systems green!
Sometimes Winter's chill is chill to chillout in front of fireplaces with warm faces of friends with hot chocolate stories and laughs and sappy Christmas movies for an excuse to eat peppermint chocolate chip cookies.
Today is a Spring in Winter preparation, a time to gestate seeds.
Daydreams turn to doing today.
I wrote a few days ago that it takes a long time writing before you can call walking away from a piece working and not procrastination.
Today's a day to return and check-in with an old, imagined friend and see what she's been up to.
You'll meet her one day. When my stories reach over the wall to all and back to me.
The wall is quite content with daydreams. A story is for you.
A wall makes a horrible you.
Abe prefers a bowl of food, a squeak toy, a pet behind the ear, to a story.
I wonder if other writers are like that. There's a story we know we're going to write. Some dream that won't give up.
It's not writer's block.
Which I don't believe in by the way. It just means you can't write what you think you should. If you can make a sentence, you can write. So, write something, nonsense if you must, but write something. Write plenty, just not that think you should thing.
Perhaps it's a flower metaphor persisting to bloom.
I think I see a petal this morning.
Time for pedal to the metal?
Only one way to find out.
Write.
Take care, enjoy the air somewhere new, and finally have your better day.
