It feels like a toddler mangling pronunciations and jumping over sticks.
It feels like an ending of a relationship.
It feels like seeds germinating, growing, climbing a trellis, producing flowers, attracting bees, and handing out ripe pea pods for picking.
It feels like the thunder and the wind preceding a summer storm.
It feels like old posts removed, and new ones to come.
It feels like moving on.
Time is an accumulation of growth, decay, and regrowth. Time is not numbers. Time is a current. Time is a place/space/stretch of dirt road.
I lost myself for a time. I had to pull myself out of the waters and onto the shore.
This post marks a new start for this blog. I hope once again to devote my time to crafting posts about books, writing, and the intersections of life.
Coming up...
A Reintroduction
An Introduction
What's Happened Since Starting an MFA Program
As always, until next time...
