Words + Images

It is Monday.  The sun is shining.  The air is (relatively) warm. I sit at my desk committed to writing.  Yes, committed.  To write.  Not draw.  Not photograph.  Not dream the day away.  To write.  To put pen to paper.  Or finger to key.  Yes.  Write.  It’s not easy.  Because I could just take a short walk in the sun with my camera or even just a notebook and a pen and then come back to my desk and write something sustained with a beginning and an end.  Really, I could.  But I know myself.  If I walk out the door right now, into the sun, hours will pass.  A few words may get jotted down on paper.  A picture or two or one hundred may get taken.  But I will have reneged on my promise to myself to write a sustained piece with a beginning and an end.  And so I sit.  I am lucky that I have windows all around me.  Through one window I see an oak tree with its branches bare.  Perhaps a bird will visit soon to keep me company.  As I write.