Anyway, those race horses shift in their stalls, ready, itching to stretch their long graceful legs and send the dirt flying up beneath their hooves. They want to run.
That’s how my fingers feel today.
Ready to run. Ready to fly and knit words into long, long scarves, sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph. The mood has struck.
Unfortunately for me, as is nearly always the case with the fickle things called moods, the timing is wrong. Other things must come first today.
Prioritizing is one of those millstones of adulthood (and don’t look up the origins of the cliché “millstone around neck” because wow is it horrifying. You went and did it, didn’t you? I told you so). In the words of the great philosopher the Rolling Stones, you can’t always get what you want.
Do I wish that I could bottle this feeling and apply liberal doses as needed?
But there’s also a skill in not making the work of writing dependent upon mood. Word scarves or no word scarves.
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