1) Last week I had several moments in which I felt that I could write something beautiful.
2) I felt like a writer last week.
3) There were moments last week when I thought I had something to write about.
4) Poetry churned in my soul last week.
I did’t write anything last week, and now I can’t seem to get that feeling again.
As I drove down Bell Ave. yesterday, I looked at the trees that line the street. They are still bare. If they have buds, the buds are too small to see. There is something about the skeletal, spiky branches that appeal to me. You see a tree’s pure form when it has no leaves. You can see what a tree really means.
I want to draw trees, and try to do them justice.