August 10th. - J.W. Bouwman
Today is a day filled with the detritus of nothing; chores and sips of coffee, slipping inside the words of other worlds. I sit and soak in the fullness of being, just trying to live within the silence of unthinking. My fingers ache to drip with ink, to catch the errant words I know exist within me. I also know, with that deeper sort of secret knowledge, that my time for words is not necessarily now, for all things need their fallow times in order to bloom and thrive in the future light of day.