As summer reverses itself and slips in a day stolen from early April, I find comfort in the cool moist air. I love to smell the air and catch a hint of rains to come. Oh, Oregon...
But soon enough my bliss is shattered as the open window quits bringing in the wonderful aroma of an early summer morning and instead devlivers to me the second-hand smoke of someone's first cigarette of the day.
I know that if I wait 10 or 15 minutes the smell will have mostly cleared and I will quite likely be able to smell the moisture in the air once again, but it's not the same. The spell is broken.
It's much the same with a blank piece of paper or or an empty text editor. There's the hint of something great, something loved, something desired. But, so often words come along and ruin it all.
But not always.
1 comment:
I [heart] this one. Pure poetry.
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