That feeling you get when you’re writing a novel and you finally get to the point where you can see your way out of the middle of the book and know there is an ending….
You’ve been trashing around the marsh that is the book’s middle for weeks and now, though you’re covered in mud and still have a slog through boot-sucking bog holes ahead, at least you know what direction you’re going, where the dry land is ahead, and that glimmer of hope you held for so long turns to confidence you’re not, in fact, going to sink into the middle of all this shit without even a story to show for it.
I got that today.
That means I deserve to start outlining the next project, right? Right? Oh…. oh well…
let me just get this boot back on…
Meanwhile, here are a couple of poems: one for easter, the other for spring. Yes, already distracted…
A Watcher on Calvary
A man named Barabbas was once heard sighing,
From an alley on the path to Calvary, upon spying
A raucous crowd, carrying crosses to the top, go by,
And saying, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
Lured, like a bee to the bloom,
The scent of narcissus arrests my senses,
Dancing swallows draw eye away
From swirling script, distracted by the act;
Evening singing wins me over,
Dawn chorus charms me from my slumber,
Calling cuckoos invade my concentration.
The flowering pulls me from my room;
Sucking from the soil such beauty,
So I wish to sit before them, soaking
All they display, watching every form unfold.