Light Writes

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash Writing has always been natural for me.  It has not always been illuminating— (in fact, my works prior to salvation were predominantly dark)— but it has always been natural.  I cannot recall, from childhood, ever being deep in thoughtful consideration of choosing to journal.  I anticipated that words would travel on my train of thought to paper like relatives visiting home for an unknown and unnamed feast day.  Saving an empty hardcover notebook in September for the words to come from me was a given.  'Writing has always been natural for me' is a thought.  'Being honest with myself' is another.   Honesty with myself feels . . .  as though it requires a thousand-word poem, the words of which await my thought trains to visit paper, so lost in emotion that they miss each one.  It feels like dragging my pen across paper as though my weight in a snow shovel across tough snow.  It is the uneasy, full fe...