If you are a writer, a poet, quiet despair screams in my ears if I am not writing. Words roll around in my head. I notice quilts, a tumbleweed dancing across the road in front of me, or a marble laying by the step in an old homestead and all of a sudden, I hear the start of a poem or a story.
But I push writing to the back burner–many of life’s demands crowd out the time I have set aside to write. Who’s to blame? When I was working, I had an excuse. Now retired, I have no excuse.
Why do I do this? Why do I avoid the very activity that breathes oxygen into my spirit.
I have to write; the need is as strong as food or drink, but then I get busy and don’t. The result is starvation of my soul!
Today I am writing–sitting at a coffee house in Cedar Crest, NM after an energetic Zumba class. I sip on a Peppermint Mocha and breathe deeply. I started a new poem about quilts. I am revising and editing my book about grief.
The words tumble out–and the world is right! Sweet and serene!