I love to write. I never knew it until now, but I simply love it. Lately, I find myself thinking of everything in terms of how I will write about it. It is often the first thing that comes to mind. Today, Ben brought home some lemons from the store and they were a different sort of lemon. They had a thinner, smoother skin and were a slightly orangeish yellow that is hard to describe. Anyway, I think they are interesting and beautiful, and when I saw them I started making up a poem almost instantly. Now I have to warn you, incase I start posting poems on here, that I am not a poet! My poems always sound like something straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. I love Dr. Seuss, I think his work is genius...seriously, but it's not elegant poetry like I want to write. I wish I could poor my heart and my ideas onto paper in a way that is gloriously satisfying and beautifuly poetic, but alas, it is wishful thinking. I wonder if this talent is a skill that can be honed. Only time will tell. For now, I enjoy the sweet satisfaction of meager attempts to say what I mean and mean what I say and I can feel my mind stretching a bit.
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