I’ve plenty of images and tales to share, yet I’ve insufficient time in which to do so. For that, I am bewildered by regret.
No part of me denies my job has insidiously impacted my writing. That includes blogging, a minuscule part of my perpetual prose and poetry.
For priorities vex me at every turn. First, and without denial, come The Kids. They forever represent my focus, the crux of my every breath, the opening of my every petal and the reaching of my every branch. For them, nothing rests outside of reach. I would gladly suffer eternal horrors to ensure they know my love.
Tucked neatly behind them, both family and friends lie in wait. I can deny no amount of insufferable neglect for the names writ upon that list. How I wish to embrace each of them, to remark upon my love for what they give me, and to wish with them on every star we can consume with shared eyes rested next to each other.
My quest for enlightened success with novelist hopes then carries a banner seen above faces drawn by lamentable affection. Dare I name one before the other, a friend here and a book there, or dare I imagine within me the visage of both, a landscape of devotions torn one from the other?
Yet even still I pen want after need after want after need. Nary a soul or design escapes me without torment. Too much I want to accomplish. Too little I find of time.
Within the heavy yoke of survival I rest my weary neck. The bonds of life drag me to and fro without concern. At least in spite of my own.
I’ve partaken of no sustenance even at this late hour. My flesh beckons for the nourishment it needs… and is denied.
I beg your forgiveness as I proffer this simple gift: a quote too often quoted and a picture too often pictured. Let them sate your hungry heart for but a moment so that I might weep in need the passions unfulfilled in my own life.
Because I have no other offering. . .
“This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”
— John Muir
