May 3, 2018

an autumn morning

the moon, above dawn-burned trees : my breath contributing to the frost : hard broken beats of hot blood against cold bones : white cosmos with their lithe serpentine stems rising amongst the rigid lavender : a moment of slow, of gentle, of waiting to see what would happen : roses like scripture : the long reach of the light, touching her face, touching his hands, holding the trees so softly for a moment that felt like a moment in an old, unworded marriage : vines, fallen petals, traffic, children : peace in a small street behind it all : peace in my eyes





I haven't been writing here as often as I'd like. There are all kinds of excuses but I don't need to give any, do I? No obligations here. Just a love of writing and a sense of the encroaching silence in blogland and a wish to fight it for as long as I can because I love writing and captions on instagram are not enough. There is a feeling of richness here, even in readers' silent perusal - a feeling of my words being taken for real words, not just captions, you know? In all the jumble of life there will always come a moment like an autumn morning when I remember what my heart never forgets - that words are my first love, words for poems, words for skies, words for stories; I don't know why. It's just how the universe resonates in me. And so I'm sorry for not writing here more often. Sorry to myself.

5 comments:

  1. Yes, I wrote a note on this myself, this week. Writing is what I do and who I am. And even though i write in my paper journal everyday, my twelve years' and counting blogging habit is precious to me and i will carry on. I don't like it when I miss too many days.

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  2. I hope you will keep writing here, Sarah.

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  3. i have been thinking lately that perhaps blogging may evolve into something with less "reach", but no less richness... it may be rather like the letters that writers and artists and philosophers and, well, ordinary people used to exchange in former times. i think of the letters between some of the romantic poets, for example; how much they shared of their lives and thoughts, how enriching to their art and souls these often distant contacts were.

    how one puts one's words out into the wilderness, and finds others' words, and sighs with satisfaction at a well-turned phrase. how one is less alone for it.

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  4. Lovely writing! No need to apologize...

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