This began as morning pages in the afternoon and then politely asked to be a little poem.

 

I think of my little writing studio

over in the clearing through the trees.

I can’t wait to finish it

and set up shop for the summer.

I’ll carry over my heavy box of journals,

 the lost manuscripts, my favorite books . . .

bring a few plants, my pretties, a bit of fabric.

 

I’ll clean the windows,

buy a bright cushion for my bench,

build a low, long table.

I’ll paint one wall with blackboard paint

and buy colored chalk to scribble with.

Then I’ll form the fine habit

of carrying a cup of coffee, a little jug of water

across the field to write my morning pages.

I’ll join the birds and trees to see what sort of

something might emerge from nothing.

 

It will be a charmed circle.

Surrounded by the endless

notebooks that hold the bits and pieces

of my long and wonderful life.

Surrounded by my words and the words of others

tucked between the pages of so many books.

Surrounded by my unfinished stories.

I’ll make long flat surfaces

to trail the arch of each story

 through eons of time.

 

And  I will set aside a scattered, wintery energy

 and replace it with deep stillness,

an uncanny engagement of the soul,

a dance of the spirit.

All in an 8×12 shed that,

at the moment,

is buried in winter drifts.

 

If only the snow would melt,

a patch of grass revealed, a path uncovered.

 If only I could find my way there.

I could begin right here and now

with morning pages in the afternoon.

 

Having some fun with my spring fever.  What are you waiting for–when the snow melts, when the sun shines, when the path is clear?  Let me know what you are waiting for and what you could do this minute to initiate it?  As always, subscribe in the box below if you would like to get my weekly post and please do share it with others.

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