Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Writer's block

Each day more writing, discipline, the gifts of listening. Yet sometimes the words do not come. It isn't something you can force, although the simple act of sitting down and waiting, what Crozier described in terms of 'immanence', can open areas you did not know were within. Sometimes a scent, a letter, a glimpse out the window can begin to create the poem.

Yesterday I was on the phone and outside my living room window, where tall red sunflowers have grown, a bird stopped to feed from seed. Tiny, not as small as a hummingbird but small, delicate, a gift of pale yellow lingering on the broad leaves while I watched, breathless, until my exclamation. I don't think the stranger I was speaking with was overly amused to hear my shout-out for the bird. Who cares? I am learning to appreciate moments of beauty.


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