A welcome day at home.
Working on poems, cutting mainly. Feedback from Elizabeth is positive. I have yet to try sending anything anywhere for publication, cowardly.
Started on a story, something that happened, that I know about, a wicked old lady - well, maybe not so wicked, more misguided.
I have not kept to my promise to read poetry every day, yet. Nor have I been writing the 20 min of free flow, even though I know it is a good technique. Time to pull myself back on track, I would like those things to become routine. Have strayed considerably from everything, including Zazen and walking, though with regard to exercise, was happily busy in the garden for several hours yesterday.
I read a short play by Tennessee Williams, Something cloudy, something clear, because the title appealed so much. He wrote it when he was old, and death is in the play, though the play appears to be about young people - young people who know they are dying. The cloudy and clear are in the eyes of the writer - there is a writer in the play. Apart from the title, it makes grim reading.