Last night in between sleeping and waking I thought about my father. I wished he was still here, imagined being able to call him up on the phone just to chat. My dreamy thoughts drifted to ideas I’ve had for a short story about him, the first flicker of my writer self coming back to life. It woke me up. Lying in bed, I watched the moonlight on the mountains, our shortest night of the year. I really need to polish up “The C-Word,” too, I thought, and begin revising my material from my nine-year-old narrator. I tingled, dead limbs returning to sensation. Maybe Madhu’s sweet comment the other day (on my first lone blog post for this year of being 55) planted the seeds for the regermination of my writer. I am behind a dozen posts. I’ve wondered if you, my readers, will still be there. I fell off the edge of the earth, I think, have been dangling by my claws, tail twitching. But I’ve crawled to safety now, so glad to feel cool, moist dirt beneath my paws. I lie licking my fur.
Wondered when the next installment was coming. It wasn’t like you had a lot to do!!!
Glad you climbed back on the old Earth! Like your analogy to a cat.
Thanks, Marylou!! I am hopeful to begin getting caught up here little by little (as with everything else). Sweet of you to comment—I appreciate it. XOXO. :)
Happy to have you back on firm ground Riba. Do know that I read most of your posts, even if I don’t comment :-)
Oh, you are sweet to point that out, Madhu. And please don’t feel obliged to comment. I often just click the “like” button on your wonderful posts. It’s just always good to see you here. And thanks for the comment about firm ground. I sure have been flailing. Hoping the fall will see me back again to my blog and my writing!