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Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Write With Me: The Shadows of Past Manuscripts

Sometimes I hear them at night, as they softly fog around, and float over me. 

They, the early lines that came in the dark. Back in the Ulysses era of my writing 
life, they skirted around like a siren, called me from my stove, then. 

I am too late. That must have been the last. But wait. Is that another hoot? 
Before they drift ~ I hurry. 

The curtain in the style of Laura Ashley has hung at the bedroom window for twenty some 
years. Since the day my friend, Peg, gave it to me. Like a bouquet thrown out at a wedding it
billows its sweetness across the gray moonlight lawn, the magnolia, and the Arkansas black
apple tree. 

I drape the curtain over the nail stuck in the window frame. The window is stuck, refuses to budge, intrude on the owl. Please. But finally the bathroom window pushes up. 

Was I not reverent enough for the bird to stay? 

My phone moves from 2:33 to 2:34. 

Oh, owl in the thickest of trees. Where do you live in the forest? 
Won't you stay for tea, and talk to me?

William Morris - His first Cabbage and Vine Tapestry from 1879.

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