". . . I am a writer...
Words move through my mind like water running through empty space.
I am a writer. . . my world is a sketchpad, my fingers to the typewriter - my pin to paper. . . waiting for me to paint the picture in thoughts, words and phrases. Pregnant with moment.
Not wanting more time. . . just enough time for this moment. Time to breathe . . . in their laughter, time to smell. . . salty caramel chocolate, time to see . . . squirrels chase one by one, time to laugh . . . children silly living free without hate in heart.
I am a writer... in my world there is textures, smells, foods to savor and joys to embrace. I seek to choose words that cause another to be present in my scenery. To be right where I am. . .seeing, hearing, touching, tasting. . .
I want to remain here fully all here, time slow, attention full, the river of my life moving slow. Making blind eyes see, deaf ears hear. . . giving thanks for every moment He allows within my life.
I am a writer. . . breathing in moments, turned sacred, to tell their story not knowing whats next. A God moments framed in words.
Moments . . .abc's . . . how they are added together to make words, phrases, imagery and places. There’s something magical sweet about lining up letters into words into phrases to find the very thing you want to say. . .suspended time in moments described in words
Words are delicious . . .
I love words. I’m a verbiage collector.
I am not just one who writes. . .to talk or to share such as in facebook and twitter. . .
I am a writer. . .one who becomes vulnerable . . .
I am a writer. . . chameleon like. . . I fashion images with my words...tease speech from oceans deep.
I am a writer. . .spilling my soul out on blank pages. . .seeing poetry everywhere I go. . . a broken vase, a feather lost. . .
ex. (bird feather 4/8/14) . . .
little one perched up so high
your feathers fall from the sky
spiral down to the forest floor
today you rest tomorrow you soar
feathers many I see below
a loss in order to cause new growth
little one do not stop your song
soon you will see that for which
up so high standing on your perch
new feathers fluffed I watch you search
I see you there beautiful one
today you've rested tomorrow your gone.
I am here, I am present to a very present God fully holding life as long as I can, my fingers to the typewriter - my pin to paper. I write. I give thanks and receive more time in the moment.
I breathe deep watch little ones sleep . . . I give thanks . . . I give grace for another day . . . tomorrow I pray they too choose grace for one another.
I am not one who writes. . .I am a writer one who gives you my heart, my spirit, my soul. . .
until then I remain silent. . .waiting. . .looking. . .for the next moment to share.
“Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.” Francis Bacon
I am . . . a writer"