I’M LEAVING BEHIND just-planted summer flowers,
pansies at their peak
and a freshly bathed dog
and heading to the Great Plains
to the company of fellow writers and darers,
grace-receivers and grace-givers,
I’m packing light,
leaving expectations behind
and not stopping by Great Clips to have that snippet of hair snipped off, the one that’s sticking out sideways.
Flaws and all, I’m going.
Maybe I’ll come home fired up about an idea I need to throw myself into.
Or maybe I’ll come home relieved to be set free from thinking I need one.
Or maybe I’ll discover all I really want to do is what I’ve been doing a good long time now, writing a letter each morning before the sun rises, then going on about my day, every day for the rest of my life. Nothing more than that. And how would that sit with me? Can’t say for sure.
It’ll be a thousand letters soon, which is why I’ve not blogged much. It’s not felt like a waste of time. There’s nothing like being right smack in the middle of where I belong, doing the job I’ve been given to do and knowing it. Flaws and all.