Language and I are having a quarrel. When I think how I have sometimes felt married to words, it is perhaps no surprise, it is perhaps inevitable. Words cannot always express what we have on our hearts.
I've got to pin my hopes on the idea that this rift will mend and I'll once again be rather attached to my computer keyboard and my fingers will fly effortlessly over the alphabet, and what I write will be understood by others, and will be worthwhile.
Today I lingered by the bridge to watch swarms of catfish minnows swirl and twist in looping patterns in the murky water. When looking at the whole, they were clouds of black mist that gathered and released. When focusing on individual catfish, they were glistening plump wrigglers with whiskers and stumpy fins just beginning to unfold. There were thousands of them. Later I sat by the dam listening to the gentle rush of water, braided the long grass that sighed in the wind, and tried just to be. It was touch and go. It's difficult not to let the mind race ahead to the future or lurch backward to the past, especially when starting over in a new home and trying to find a suitable job.
2 comments:
I love your "words" sister in whatever format: "Words pondered, words realized, words spoken, words written, words unfolding truth." I haven't heard, read, realized your words much these days and I miss them.
As the musical prophet Bruce Cockburn croons, "Another step deeper into darkness, closer to the light."
Walk on...and write boldly - to hold back your gift of wordsmithing is a crime but like all artists offering the intimate sacrifice of creation - it is a fragile treasure we share.
Garth said it very well, sweet daughter, 'walk on...and write boldly'. Love, mom
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