#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Fern crazed
We go out later than usual; a friend joins me and the dogs and the ferns waving good morning from the edge of the swamp. So, it's a talking walk, not a silent one, which is very pleasant with a best friend to catch up on.
Then, another essay writing day, expansive. Revision. Some small additions. I surprise myself a bit, discovery. And then, as always, the worry: where is this going, this risk, and I think if anyone reads it, except few will. But, if it's ever published, I won't be able to control who reads it. So, I have to be willing for anyone to read it. And, it's personal, of course it is. This is why I'm writing it, to say what I have to say.
Tonight, I go to a reading nearby, by the poet Martha Collins. And after she reads, in the conversation part, answering questions, she says the remarkable exact thing I'm grateful to hear tonight:
My censors are my muses. When I hear the voice that says you can't say that, well, then that's what I have to do.
“16
go with me, my love, my one
into that night where one will go
before the other but still our night
boat our bed our lovers’ tongues
songs in the night nor the moon
by night our little light night-
night my love by and by”
All photos and text ©Kelly DuMar 2018