Work is writing
writing to work.
the work of writing
through writing itself,
trying to find Time to Write…
A robin sings in the thicket on the edge.
The wind whisks through the twisted oaks.
Somewhere off in the distance
someone steps on the gas
and the exhaust ripples the morning air
and the Atlantic yawns beneath the front.
A new day.
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.