Today's post is a bit of a placeholder. There's no draft process this week. On Wednesday night/Thursday morning a cold/flu bug got the best of me and I was down for the count until midday yesterday. Then, the papers that have been lingering here needing grading got the priority.
True confession, Dear Reader, I'm just a little burned out, singed around the edges and needing a bit of a break from poetry.
I've been thinking about that old Nike ad: "There is no finish line." I get the inspiration behind that, and I've been thinking about it in terms of poetry. Yes, I'm frustrated because book #2 hasn't found a home and I've moved on to book #3, and I just keep writing poem after poem because, hey, that's what I do; I can't stop doing it. However, there is a tiny voice (that corrosive, eroding voice) that questions why I continue to sweat over the page when the finish line eludes me. I guess I need the weekend to slap some duct tape across the mouth of my internal doubter.
I am not writing this because I seek encouragement or comfort. I write it because the goal of this blog is to be real, to be honest about what the writing life is all about for me. Sometimes it's not all happy, happy, joy, joy, 'fun with words,' party time. Sometimes, it's trying to drag the plow through the hardest, most drought-stricken topsoil in the hope that the weather will turn in my favor at the end of a hard day's work.
Until then, here are a few pictures from the neighborhood from last week. The colors are even more saturated now.