Wordless

My pencil taps against the table

straining for some words to put on paper

to say something,

anything

worth someone’s time to read.

I stare out the window at crusted snow

bare branches and bird flitting to the feeder

and wonder

how many other writers

sit at a table with me, pencils tapping,

seeking words in the snow, the trees and the fleeing birds.

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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