a prophetic voice-

   Sometimes, sitting and thinking is about all I can force myself to do, especially on a day like today has turned out to be- sun-filled and warming and bright and blue, the grass bright green from three days of much- needed rain which nevertheless gave me the blues. I want to be creative, want beautiful words to emerge from my l atent poet’s heart, want to put loveliness and hope and wonder out there into a world which seems to need them all so much. I want to feel useful, to have a sense of having accomplished some thing with this April Wednesday. But, you see, I am still in the doldrums…still lost in the wilderness…still wandering in a spiritual desert- though I have been here before, so there is a certain familiarity to it. Doesn’t make it any easier, though, this sense of lostness…in spite of the déjà vu quality per- vading it. Wandering in the wilderness is never, ever easy.    Just ask my wandering Hebrew forebears, the ones who spent forty years lost, without

   Spent a few hours at one of my favorite places this morning, writing. For some reason, my creativity seems to find expression when I am away from home, away from the familiar places I usually inhabit. And, with pen in hand- yes, I actually put pen to paper, rather than using a computer for creative writing- I put my feelings down, surprising myself, as usual, with the results, as I bounced all over the place emotionally. And so, I' m daring to share them with you, always a risk for a writer, a poet...(deep sigh, gulp, share...) the wren singing at the top of its voice each morning tiny wren mighty voice daring to sing     its own sweet song welcoming the day daring to be freely,     fully itself no holding back no second guessing warbling an invitation to this often-reluctant human- be yourself! lift your voice! be daring! make the most of it, no matter what what baggage am I STILL carrying? You would think, at age 75, that