My wife says,

“Writing comes easy to you.”

How far from the truth that is, for, I can see my next few chapters. Saw the scenes play out, in my head, though, now I know, this is but a guide, for, as I begin to record, to, really watch and write down what I see…

It will change. It always does.

Why is this?

The poems are so much easier.

They start with a title, and then, an opening line, so much like a boat ramp.

I will do one now, all I have to do is cast out, and, see…

Crows

What things you are,

black,

clustered, mid, road,

beneath high trees, some fall day,

as she drives,

to run you down.

How she hates you.

Hates your kind.

And yet, so delights in,

You.

There is something, between,

You,

for,

I see you.

I see,

Her.

That image,

so, so,

Witch,

Like.

No hat,

but a garden,

magical, and,

always,

always,

Secrets.

And you cluster,

and,

Caw,

gather round,

above,

always,

in the trees,

above,

but,

Behind.

For, she does not wish you,

Present,

Seen.

Though,

you come when she is not near,

to cluster,

to call,

and she will not,

answer.

Not you, and,

not,

Me.

-Timberbee

This is one I would edit, I think. For I am full of distractions now, a question called, music I cannot turn off, nor, turn down, for that would welcome further, distractions, and, right now, it is hard to think about writing those few, so very, necessary, scenes, and yet, I am learning that, this might make for the best setting for putting down those words which Need to, come,

out.

For they need to.

It is like walking with Brother Wind. You must do it when you must do it. There is no tomorrow, there is no, “Back Burner”. Wind does not play second fiddle, and, neither do,

the,

Words

-Timberbee