"Sleeping Beauty", by Henry Meynell Rheam
I've been moderately busy editing some short stories and a couple of poems. I wrote a new sonnet last week which was deeply satisfying. I took out my old laptop which is in poor condition but it still works and I was able to access documents on it and read some older poems. A lot of these older poems made me cringe. So I guess I have grown in my writing but then everything looks different when you have perspective.
I've lots of images in my mind and I feel like I want to create but I will have to wait until tomorrow maybe to put them on paper.
Isn't life so beautiful? It's so amazing sometimes that it's hard to comprehend it. Sometimes I wish I could paint pictures instead of writing. The fact remains that nothing gets done without work and application and nothing willl grow unless it is nourished and brought forward. I think I'm finally getting back on track.
