I’ve been thinking today about writing. I’ve been thinking quite a lot about it. I thought about it rather well. When the time came to actually put something down on what Luci Shaw referred to this weekend as the “democratic white page” I faltered. My fingers fumbled. Keystroke-like movements started and stopped. I thought about the look of the dogwood trees blooming and could not come up with words to describe them with any honor large enough. This went on for most of the day and into the evening.
I thought about the sound of the quiet, interrupted only by the uneven tapping on the keyboard when an idea came then followed quickly by the rhythm of the backspace key beating time with measured regularity.
It seemed so much more certain of it’s job.
At last all I am left with is the astounding realization and perhaps the appreciation finally, of the unfinished things.