sometimes I sit down to write

And it feels like a storm starting far away and long ago, a battle brewing, a war upon the wind of changing time and time and fierce and frightening.

Other times it’s like pushing it all up hill.

But today what I want most of all is to write quiet and serene and in my writing I will name nothing, because, for today most everything can remain peacefully unknown and just stay exactly where it is, hovering on the precipice of known.

For this is the moment of fragile happiness. Something bad happened once before, perhaps even more than once. But the bruises are fading now, the ache in the old wound receding with the warmer weather. And something good may happen yet, but even the having of that happy which is to come would be less pleasurable than this anticipation. This hope. This hopefulness.

In between every inhale and exhale every exhale and inhale is the moment of imperceptible suspension. This is where I want to rest today.

This is where I want to write.