Mists of morning...
For a time I lived by water, swayed by its moods, conversing with its murmurings, lulled to sleep by its waves. My conscious and unconscious evolution was a reason to land there and linger for some years before circumstance effected change. Though rustic and primitive, my cabin and its windows on the water had much to teach; I took each lesson to heart and the result was transformation.
It has been fun to see how much the poems follow the season. So many of us have been mired in winter. Now some are seeing hope of spring. It is interesting that this whole process would have produced such different work had it been launched in some other month, say July rather than January. I am seeing signs of live in my Portland, Oregon also.
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