With most of the leaves gone from the bushes and trees around my house, there is now space for the light of the sun to shine through. These prisms decorate all my downstairs windows and when the light is perfect, I take a wooden spoon and give a little tap on each prism. The walls of my house begin to dance as rainbows beams of life cast of the colors.
Sometimes I wonder if this could be true of writers. Are you not trapped among bushes and trees which causes delay in writing? Could these bushes or trees be physical or emotional? Could they be a part in modern living with cell phones and Facebook calling us?
Just some thoughts for a cold, but sunny Saturday.
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