It was, as I've said many times, like a summons, when it finally came ...
Oh, I had written a lot of things along the way ... love letters when I was in military service, business letters later, a memo here and there ... things like that.
But writing? Real, creative writing? I hadn't had time, nor the inclination for that, it seems.
Still, there was something that drove me in the direction of writing ... just sitting down and putting thoughts ... memories ... images ... on paper.
And, as I say in today's poem, it was like the whir of that most beautiful, most graceful, most fragile of insects ... the butterfly ... which brought that latent interest to life ... so that here we are today ... these few years later, sharing these moments, these thoughts.
in which words
on my heart,
a whir as soft
as the flight
of a butterfly,
and my voice,
to my own ears,
rose in song.
(originally published in Potpourri)
Today's word: whir