And so… it`s April and the sun was singing like Nina Simone today. My book is pushing up through the soil like a crocus, spilling little dirt granules earth worm-wise, and just as blindly. Or rather, I am the blind one because I can`t see how to reorder the chapters. Thinking too much, seeing too little. And tired. it`s all this unsettledness- moving, job hunting, book-finishing- and Spring is king of unsettledness anyway.
There are a few things i need to get done… yes a number of things waiting in the wings. Lots of little baby birds all screeching for attention, blind to everything but their own hunger. Once when I was not very well, a dead tree got cut down in my dad`s backyard and a bird house full of baby woodpeckers came down with it. The mum was killed by the cat as she tried to feed those babies, and I decided it was up to me to keep them alive. I put the bird house up in a tree and fed them raw hamburger, but not often enough, because I was feeble myself and overwhelmed by the responsibility. They died and I remember when i took the roof off the bird house… their little bowed heads, covered with sawdust.
No more. Now it`s just books. Nobody dies if I don`t tend my words for a day.