The pen has no compassion.

I've been very sick the last month. Complicated complications and back to square one from my injury of a year ago. So, I limp like an old cowboy and am considering giving up writing. Writing has become very empty for me, the pen has no compassion.

I recently read an article published by infed by David Brandon, Zen in the art of helping. It has made me pause and consider that perhaps my writing will be as dull as I am of late. Unlike art, writing is not a solitary brush of self-exclamation. Writer's want dialgoue, a dance partner, applause! I want none of that. The colour orange speaks loudly enough for me - "See me on the edge of winter's leaf?". I am comforted by that honesty and the cool hush of their dignity in the face of an unknown end.

If only
I could throw away
the urge
to trace my patterns
in your heart
I could really see you.

Bankei