This morning it was as dark at 7:45 as it was at 9pm last night. I vaguely remembered that were due for rain so the darkness startled me. For a second, you question the time, yourself but stumble through because you are committed to the moment. Ha!
Now, a little over 2 hours have passed and I have a sip of coffee left, and a page full of red strike throughs, half circles. Ane Brun’s Changing of the Seasons is leading me through the process. I am stuck on a line that I don’t want to let of go. I think it tells too much, shows too much in 13 words. Seems like nothing but a lot can happen in 13 words.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
I still remember that poem from junior high or high school. It was what first came to mind not knowing there were 13 words in it and I love that kind of magic.
While reading up on driftwood I fell down a tiny rabbit hole and read up on shipworms, termites of the sea but also a delicacy. Very interesting. I may use one in a piece down the line, who knows?
The week is nearly up. How are you?