This is what it feels like to write – and to live. We come to a small rushing junction with each word – with each moment. Sometimes we choose and sometimes we cannot. Sometimes we are swept away by the current, and sometimes desperately paddling back upstream. Pencil lead is the sap in the trees on the banks – the trees with the twigs that so many someones are holding on to. The sap is under the surface…Waiting. Tap it! Collect it in the tin pail of your heart. Boil it down till it’s thick – till it’s you.
These days, i remain,