there are certain things that you know that you should be doing, but you never seem to do enough.
Writing in this blog is definitely one of those things for me.
Its funny, you would think with all the different writing outlets I have in my life, I would want for nothing. Yet, I feel the distinct longing to write in this format when I haven’t in a while. It’s not just the desire to write–it’s the desire to write here.
I’m not going to focus on the external circumstances beyond stating that I can feel myself losing, as my friend back home called it, my “muchness,” daily. I do not think that I no longer have a voice, but I’m becoming more invested in listening than speaking these days.
“Where have you hidden my belov’d?”
Have I become more reticent? More aloof, really. But that’s not what I’m most concerned about talking right now.
I really want to talk about the loveliness of the sunrise I get to see each morning, and the tangibility of my innermost place being projected out to the forest I walk through each day on my daily comings and goings.
I really want to talk about the the cold in my breath and cracking of my skin.
I really want to talk about the stillness.
I really want to be still.
I really want to be.
I really want to
I really want