Sitting in front of the computer trying to write the great British novel, or an entire spoken word set, or at least redraft that story I thought was good but ‘needs more work.’ I am so fortunate to be at home while the children are at school. I am so lucky to have the tools I need. I even tidied my work space this morning, shoved printed poems into the recycling. I wrote a To Do list.
I got nothing.
At 11ish, I give up and go for a cycle. I am so distracted by the amazing weather that I forget to put my helmet on. It’s like a pastoral symphony out there: butterflies and everything.
If you write, you’ll know how this story ends. I got home with two ideas for poems and wrote one in the garden’s sun.
