A right to write

I haven’t blogged in some time. Not because I have nothing to say but in reality I had no time to blog when I knew what to say and no energy to blog or remember what to blog when I had time to write. A mental mismatch where mind and moment refused to meet.

So now, why?
Because the sun is shining and spirits raise and ideas whirl and dance like dandelion seeds in the blue bright air? Because someone uncorked the bottle, poured me a shot of fiction and reminded that I love word craft? Because my world is full of pressures and pulleys and hooks and harnesses, tardy white rabbits and final demand letters in screaming red capitals?

It has been a long time since I sat cocooned in my own bubble, listening to old familiar music with the sun drifting in and out of trees tickling my eyes as my bus wheels its way home.

Too much of life is about being there, doing for, catching up, holding on, carrying and helping. For this one hour it is just me, music and memories and a dream of being and doing just for myself. My spirit soars with the guitar chords and a vast peace spreads from me.


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