I'm over here. Here, that's me jumping up and down waving by the river. See me? I've met a writing friend here, we've walked up and down the riverwalk, watching the ducks and gulls, letting the sharp spring wind blow us awake. We've done exercises and talked for hours. Both of us need the words to flow, to come back, to make friends with us again. We're here to court them back into favor. So far... things are okay. No earthshaking epiphanies, but no heartbreaking silences either. I'm hoping for sunshine tomorrow, sunshine is easier to write in than overcast.
April 3--Italian School (14th Century)--A Musician, from DeMusica by Boethius. Look at her standing up there, so serious. Her body curves with the effort to hold the lute correctly and position the bow just right. She looks so grown up and her focus is deeply carved in her sweet face. All the months of practice and lessons, all the days that she has spent learning were for today. The planning and preparation, the new dress that had to be just right. All for today. Today when the town looks new bright and scrubbed in the sunlight. Today when the Baron makes his annual rounds, she hopes he will notice her and take her to court. And I, her mother and biggest supporter, hope that he doesn't.
Good for you, Jennifer, for getting back to the page. I like your piece; nice surprise that the speaker is a young man getting the bad news that his best friend can't sleep over any more. I liked last night's meeting too.
Good night.
--Barbara
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