I am at the edge of writing again. Whether it is the glut of busy minds in the classroom, or the relative quiet of earlier mornings, the echo of time shifting like old leaves covered by new, the words are returning and spilling through consciousness. Is it the chatter of romantic, the sensuous nature of hard work, the exhaustion way down deep in the evening, that opens a portal to thought? Never look into the eyes of this feral beast.
Come phantoms of other lives. Flash into snips of conversation. Take over the idle moment and run through the pen to paper. Be free.
J D Cooper
Writer and Reviewer