This morning I read this. And the sentiment is important and the piece is lovely, but I'm taking the selfish road on this one and talking about how reading this morning I was reminded that I need to write.
Because I stop writing in the face of uncertainty, and I haven't been writing because I haven't been certain. Things seem precarious (delicious, certainly, the summer and the gentleman caller) and I don't want to ruin the magic with certainty, you know, like butterfly wings or whatever.
And because it's time to start inhabiting myself again.
The advent of August is weighty every year. In August I reassert and renew. I make plans and budgets. I pull out my planner. Fall is on its way and August never lasts more than a minute and the thing left to do is write everything down: take stock. And the daze I've been floating through (what a fantastic summer it's been) has been so important...and now I'm left wondering how to keep the joy I found this summer while trying also to live my busy crazy life.
I think, soon, I'll write a little more about what I learned this summer...and about words being like water. Because I can't stop thinking about it.