I’m rediscovering my poetic me. A few days ago I posted some decade old poems in words. I am doing other work in that realm now. Poetry and pictures flow from me now. Not public. Far too personal even for me, a shameless narcissist, to share here.
There is a muse in my life. Warm, serene, gentle. And I think I am a muse in another person’s life. The interaction, on equal terms, brings comfort and happiness to me.
I’ve been thinking of the worries and heartaches I carry with me as a heavy pack, on a long journey. The journey is so long I have no idea where it ends. The pack is so heavy that at times it is overwhelming. But sometimes, I can find the time to take a break, and enjoy life and the sensual world around me. The glow of city lights. The scents and feelings of blissful company bring sweet release. But the heavy pack remains. The journey must be continued. But with the camraderie of loved ones, the journey is less a burden.
Many hands make light work.
Last night, and this morning I cried. The first good cry in several days.
But today will be a good day.