Encore

From the collection 'Sublimely Cheerful Postcards'

Last night, I read this quote, and then, of course, had to write. Curtain Call was my first title idea, but this morning I prefer ‘Encore;’ it holds the sense of something to continue. The metaphor shifts, but the sense of tiredness is sustained, so the title is all that I have changed:

‘I have forced myself to begin writing when I've been utterly exhausted, when I've felt my soul as thin as a playing card, when nothing has seemed worth enduring for another five minutes... and somehow the activity of writing changes everything. Or appears to do so’. Joyce Carol Oates

I could write all night. But then I would be tired. Thinking of sitting here, with the window open, just tapping out all the changes in the air. But there are other things that need my attention. Time to shut down, conserve energy, regroup my scatty, distracted self. But, first, a little light writing to direct my dreams. Stream out some sentences, in a loose consciousness. Stream like driving.

To Roadford Lake:

We ferry the dogs lakeside, to find play and shade. In blown-through hedges, cheerful ox eye daisies flail in a hot dervish whirl.

From Tavistock, At Sunset:

By the time we get to an open viewpoint, there is one half of a slice of a moon in the sky: no sun. The great dramatic act has passed. We set our eyes on the aftermath, the pink light lingering in clouds, the soft folding of day into horizon.

Fold myself into horizon.

Words fall effortless, like the flow of a dance. Dreams dance, the years of training paying off.

Take a bow.