Thursday, March 8, 2012

Let the Wind Blow

What is it about writing that is so personal? Writing is good if it's true. You cannot hide and expect to be liked, or even understood. People are always reading past what you write: they are asking if your writing is a proper mirror for themselves. And they usually know themselves pretty well. It's late. My cough continues. I consider it a personal accomplishment to have done laundry and paid some loans today. I mean, worthy of a plaque, a medal.

The weather was so beautiful today, that I took my blanket and some grading to the park. After the grading, I turned up my hood, curled up in the blanket, and let the wind whip across me. I lay on that hill and fell asleep. I awoke a few times to see the bare trees against a gray and blue-streaked sky. I felt invisible. I felt beautiful.

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