I’ll Be Writing. (18.11.2)

Sat at the desk, battered by winds and rains. Buffeted by daily demands of life.

There are times of course, when the world wins, and away from the words we must go.

Ties snaking along, glowing through darkness and storms, edging paths, curbs, marking trails amongst debris and disorder. Pulling, dragging, making its own demands. Looped over elbows, taught against ankles; chokers and bracelets, wrapping round each bit of story, plot, and thought. Quiet. Ignorable at first. Ever present and growing.

Pulled in so many directions, and still returning. Again yet again, until time stretches oddly.

Understanding finally the words.

I’ll be writing.



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