I was reading after dark last night by my library window, lamplight, I started with this nursery rhyme of my own… ‘I sit quietly in this chair, I will comb through my hair, and I will read Jane Eyre.’
I am sorry for these pretty hastily deleted posts; I remind myself writing is free, and in writing, in each, we don’t have to reach a lasting or a certain perfect kind of truth. I am in trauma therapy and it is a hard time. These are words of peace and gratitude, but not of happiness. But let’s start over, better balance on my part, am thankful for you reader.
My words lost and recovered, just this part received in email, could introduce or inspire a new poem sometime…
Sleep long, fully, numberless twirl my hair around, and spin again, remember that dream now…something to do with a serious …(game)