This is a day for poetry, but I have no poetry at this time. March still drags in the dreary dirge of misery. Well, not really, but I feel a continence of "Nothing changes." A lie stinking of smoke.
My body in the day, like the seasons, senses attitudes. I need a change in latitude like Jimmy Buffet. Or not. We're hardy, us Northerners. I'm proud to be a Western Pennsylvanian. Endurance stretches our fabric. Do I want to grow with the fabric?
Oh, it is another Saturday I leave my home to work. I find little time to write, but I wrote much yesterday. I need the light in my soul, since we have no sun in our window. I'll be back to my "Daily Bread."
I will see tomorrow, how many read this. I don't want to live by polls. Some days, though, I need that boost. I think today is one of those days. April is Tuesday. And May comes in short weeks. I'm not wishing my life away, only looking for a push out of doldrums.