There are few nicer things than sitting up in bed, drinking strong tea, and reading.
~ Alan Clark
Except, perhaps, sitting up in bed, drinking strong soy-milk-frothy coffee, and writing: my delicious regular morning ritual.
I’m just back from the prairie where I’ve been reimagining something that happened there a lifetime ago, tapping out words and sentences to give structure to the event and, in doing so, finding nuggets that I missed seeing the first time—the time when I lived it.
That’s one of the great gifts of writing.
I return here, as I do every morning, wondering what I have to offer. Conventional wisdom says that a blog must give something to its readers and here, I fear, I fall short. I have no free ebooks or pretty graphics for you to download; I have no seven-step formula for success in a given area, or a tutorial telling you how to do something.
All I have is words, and simple ones at that. And a photo, equally simple. Today, and probably tomorrow and tomorrow after that, that will be all that I have.
I’m growing ever more weary of the virtual noise and the clamour of voices striving to be the loudest and the smartest, the most right and the most offended. My weariness calls me to combat the cacophony with quiet.
Simple happy (and sometimes not-so-happy) words and images are all I have; that will have to be enough.