time, timers

by walterdoege

this past week I wrote off line…so strange!, but its the traditional way of writing…but I didn’t write with a blade of grass…I wrote with an ink pen…the soothing and soft movement of the hand…the tiny sound of the words and phrases on a page of my book of notes…in fact a collection of pages…that sound send me all time the vivid writing…writing for me?, sure…writing for you, dear reader, sure!,but utmost writing because its a need for me…and the after time of reading what I’ve wrote…resend me a sense of doing my work, this work of writing…and I don’t think so much why do I write…to express myself…to sense myself…to break the deep silence…intemitent silence…to face non sense…to face tough ones and hard things…to save some joy instants also through writing…to save my trust and gratitude…my trust in human goodness…to write down memoirs…to sew with words and phrases a warm blanket to face so frosty winter…some sad ones…some bad news…to save through the sound of the moving blade a lovely high spirit of joy inside me…and I came back to the blog…this so new old digital receipt of receiving freely each word thrown off…in each word a piece of me…body…soul…high spirit of ever joy…but if I think a little more…I don’t write…the first words are always the hard to read