Fall again . . . and I can't complain except that it still feels like September. And I seem to be writing the same poems over and over again. Each time I think I will find the perfect fix . . .
I am reminded of this 12 year old girl who lives on our street, and she rides her scooter up and down her driveway every day after school. Back and forth, back and forth. She never goes into the street with the other kids. I sometimes feel like I am doing the same thing with my writing.