I have gotten out of the habit of writing and therefore have gotten out of the habit of living a beautiful life.
Writing is the process whereby I squeeze Truth and Beauty from falsehood and ugly in my daily world.
Now there are overgrown weeds tangled over my trellis and the wisteria can not be seen.
How do I remove the ugly without damaging the beautiful?
My lenses have become scratchy and cracked and all that I see is distorted.
It’s a strange Picasso-world, full of jointed and pointy angles.
Until a different kaleidoscope appears.
Scribbles in the sand that blow away in the wind reveal the finger of God on stone.
My words pass away, but His do not.