Gifted a stack of reading material yesterday, I was up til midnight perusing the contents of my instantaneous reading list. My neighbor was feeling inspiration, too, twirling the dark, wee hours with the tinkle of piano keys and starlight.
This morning I oversleep and wake to find poetry. The addition rounds out my reading collection: “Hope is in the Moment.” Stones and time, Robinson Jeffers and falcons. The Big Sur coastline threads to me again through the words of my father. (read John Dofflemyer’s “Hope is in the Moment” at Dry Crik Journal).
My writing continues, though sometimes you’ve got to fill the well with the words of others. And sometimes you have to rest, ever-still, in the waters of your own.
Here’s to words and silence, time, space and the present.