Although no two days are the same, they divide themselves between up and down, loquacious and dumb, wordy and wordless.
Some days the words greet me in the morning. They pour out through my fingertips before I know what they’ll say. Other mornings the words play dead or hide-and-seek.
The words don’t come when the news is bad…when the world itself is too wordy, when the sacredness of words is profaned by jabber and chatter and pretentious prognostications about … just about everything. Some of those days and weeks I know enough to keep silent. On others I try to write and publish something here on Views from the Edge despite the inner voice that whispers “Shhhh! Not now. Maybe later the words will come. Shhhh!”
Although no two days are ever the same, they group themselves between “Not now; not yet!” and “Good morning! Today’s the day!”
Whether the words know when to be written is another thing altogether. Neither they nor the keyboard knows, and so some days I write in hopes they won’t profane the sacredness of words and silence.
– Gordon C. Stewart, Chaska, MN, May 7, 2015