Where do ideas come from? Words just appear and I have no clue where they are until they show up on the paper--and how come sometimes a picture generates certain words but the next time I look at it altogether different words come? To quote Yul Brynner, 'tis a puzzlement.
It's quiet down here, peaceful. Not silent, not by a long shot, but different sounds from the regular everyday ones. There's no traffic, no ringing buzzing tootling phones, no voices of any kind. It's restful to ears jangled by the escalating buzz of modern life to wade into a blood-warm sea and submerge to spend an hour neutrally buoyant, unemcumbered by gravity's demanding pull. The Darth Vader whoosh-click of your breathing fades as your vision soars, strains to pull in every color, movement, and shape. It's peaceful spending time in a place where the rocks are alive, the plants are animals, and the only soldiers are six-inch-long red fish that roam the reef at night.
See you tonight with Jenny's critique in one hand and my submission in the other.
--Barbara
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