So it is when I try to write. Eventually the words come. And, then, nothing. For the longest time, a paragraph will lie inert in the desk drawer. And, in that drawer, and, in that inertness, lies my torment.
Resumption is laden with doubts, the kind of doubts that always loom in lonely sanctum.
Facing an empty page each day seems analogous to the awkwardness and difficulty that attends the chary resumption of a long-dormant friendship. Forgiveness mixed with caution. Compassion peppered with doubt. The need for humility always paramount. Despite the odds, a sense of preponderance resounds.