It is amazing that once you are used to writing directly into a weblog, you depend upon it as one of the tools to produce.
I had a feeling this morning when I drove by the fish hatchery and looked for the eagle but saw the crane sitting in the old tree, that I was a crane, not an eagle, but cranes too have their purpose in this world, and it was turning into the voice of the Master to my Grasshopper. Rushed home to the computer, and Typepad was shut down. Three hours later, the lyrical quality of the entry is, well, gone.
Why not just put it in Word the way I used to? Because Word is for stories and poems (such as they are). Odd how creative movements, so exploratory and free-wheeling in themselves, are often dependent upon the routine and familiar to be born.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology