You were made to scale the mountains
But you must write.
You were knit together to undo the hearts of humankind
But you must write today the drudgery and details of a thing.

I pull up a blanket and cozy into the headboard which, today, serves as my desk chair, the pillow a most comfortable desk.

I stare blankly for what seems an hour. I am frozen in false expectations.

I’ve been told what people read, what is appropriate and what is fussy, what’s helpful and what’s self-serving.

This morning I write just for the practice.

I am hunched over a tray table in a window seat, looking down over the expanse of a flat Texas. There's no burning thought to flesh out with ink, no idea lobbed onto my heart that's bursting to get out. My only thoughts, really, are for my boys, all three of them. I've been away for three and a half days and that's too long this time.