So, today just after the rain and the whole fresh universe opening up that gardener’s love. Thinking of the poet’s flower the hyacinth! Writing to what might be Spring, in a time of great, great stress in my life. Trying to think of the beautiful.
I’m not even looking back at the novel, just keeping the fingers going saying something. it’s been a strange process this year, this writing, but I think it reflects or underscores what is going on in general.
I’m not strong enough to keep going in a state of anxiety like this. I just can’t, and it’s other people that are causing it, not me. I am simple and made of simple things. I just want a garden and some flowers — that makes me happy — the quiet of all of that, looking at beauty.
From today, and needs under 3,000 today the high two’s to catch up in toto — this part is a blur… week three heading toward finish.
I wanted to wrap him in my arms and wrap him inside of me until we moved in unison against each other, moving, the tumbling together, he above me as it should be.
Everything was falling apart in those years. It had been impossible to think that love still existed in America. It was a romantic notion.
I wanted to tell him that there were still hyacinths, that there would always be hyacinths because they were the poet’s flower, the gladness of the scent stirring everything in the soul.
I wanted to tell him that his flowers were keeping him alive in the darkness, as mine were keeping me alive.
who knows where this is going? Dunno! Onwards—————> the power novel, I swear….
Yesterday had apocalyptic overtones but that could have been the cold. I really want to make 50,000 words I really do.