It's cold in the shade, Let's move to the sun

Antonina Romadanovskaya (Russian, 1906–1985)

It may be that the major art in poetry is the art of finding this shining—this luminosity. It is the difference between a publishable poem and one that matters. Certainly one can make good poems without feeling much or discovering anything new. You can produce fine poems without believing anything, but it corrodes the spirit and eventually rots the seed-corn of the heart. Writing becomes manufacturing instead of giving birth.

And the air was full of Thoughts and Things to Say. But at times like these, only the Small Things are ever said. Big Things lurk unsaid inside.

What I hang on to is the human, and personal. I do not want to enter impersonal, non-human worlds. I want my solitude, my peace, the beauty of my house; I want to find my lightness & my joy again. Introspection does not need to be a still life. It can be an active alchemy.