Black on White

Life has gotten in the way of writing.

Assigned reading.

Seminars.

Strategy sessions.

Distractions from putting

Words on the screen.

The black against the white.

The marks that might mean nothing

To anyone

But that I want to write

Just to be writing them.

Letting the stories come.

Waiting to see where they go.

And how they come back to some beginning

Or ending

Or in between.

Not worrying about accuracy

Or relevance

Or importance

Just writing

As one sits by an alpine lake

Not worried about mattering

Just being there

Thinking or

Not.

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