 Okay – I know my writing has been spare this week. How can I lose myself in literary musings when I have the prospect at my fingertips of mingling limbs and life with my dear little Fiona? What is it about grandchildren? They seem to dissolve the hard, defined edges of our selves into soft, blurry, blobs of love-drenched protoplasm. When Fiona’s restless head settles down on my shoulder and her body relaxes against mine, I long to stop time. What’s that Buddhist mantra? I have arrived. I am home, in the here, and in the now. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 294: 96 words, TOTAL = 48,834; 11,166 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families. Archives
January 2021
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