Severn Sound Sunrise
The trees outside my window are stripped of leaves. Rain has been splattering the pane for half the night. The breeze seeking the warmth of my study is gentle, crisp and damp. Fall is upon us, winter not far off.
I write best in the dark. If not best, with greater ease. The dark strips my mind of the inessential, pushing truth and fear to the fore. Facing down the fear is possible with a keyboard, even a sticky one, at my fingertips.
WordPress makes recommendations – the automation of writing. Because I used the verb shroud, WP delivers nouns to add as tags: Turin Shroud, Jesus, Denmark, and Catholic Church. None of the nouns are relevant to my purpose, today. Neither is the automation.
I want to empty my brain into this blank field, eradicating the fear, to leave me open and ready for the possibilities that only day can bring. Night is about what was. Day is about what is. What will be: That is left to the mind.
Very poetic Prisca, reminds me of Les Dawson, famous UK comedian and raconteur who said :
“The trees are stripped of leaves. As I sit here, rain has been falling gently upon my skin cooled by the autumnal breeze reminding me to get a roof on this outside washroom”