Writing
Ordinary
Everyday
Another page
Starting over
Until they come
The words spill out
On to the page
Somedays
Meaning comes with them
Other days
It’s just practice
Being there
To see, to listen, to write
The fingers tapping keys
The body breathing in and out
The warmth of the coffee on my tongue
The sound of the heater clicking on
Sometimes there aren’t that many more words than yesterday
But I still sit, in love, with each moment, quiet, warm, receptive
Like being in a glass elevator stopping at every floor
I don’t want to get off but at some point I’ll reach my destination
Ding, top floor, I look out at all the surrounds me
The landscape, the mountains, the moon on one side, the sun on the other
It’s a rare site to see
On top of the world in a little glass jar being pulled up by the strings to the spot where I’ll step out
And BE part of the story.