“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”
Such are the words of Steve Prefontaine.
I’ve been absent from the walls of m e l i s s i m a. lately; from the haven of my writer’s cocoon, and the body of my author self. But to let decay, again, the project I gave Life to so freely, so unselfishly, so honestly, would be an unwelcome fact upon my fragile conscience.
The flow of ink from my pen lags on occasion. My Moleskine collects dust until I dare, again, confront it. But the storm of ideas that inhibits my brain and blows its way to the core of my heart, never subsides. And so that very wind I shall dance with, to my next choice of capital letter, on my white, blank page.