Winter chases Summer onward by exhaling Autumn in our paths, and that is okay with me. I am nearly exhausted from the tug-and-pull of others’ selfish needs and fulfillment in a season of misery and horrifying heat indexes.
I write nevertheless; the company of mine very pen transports me to a time when very little was required of me other than embracing tiny reveries aside a rill. Nature became a fair companion and along the beautiful lakes of lust and forests of plentiful romances just waiting with long stretched arms. I confess o’er it a chance at much time among it. Within this season, I need to possess at least hours to produce from my soul the art in which is intended.
And so …
Onward to Liszt and of course to prepare my afternoon subject for submission … Write, revise, edit, edit, edit, revise, take a break and … submit.