Immaculate Conception II
I couldn't leave the thought alone last night that I had not gone south enough in the park to find my writing spot. I awoke for an early morning walk in the park. To my surreal happiness (can I put those words together? of course I can, it's my blog) I walked right to the spot, not far off from the round pond. Forgive me late Princess Diana for accusing you of putting your playground over my sacred, and secret location.
I sat down on my bench and remembered those inspirational days, and some of the essays I wrote. For awhile I had a mental conversation with that study abroad student, as if I had tubed back in time. She was sitting there, on my bench, working on some composition for writing class. I told her how happy I was, how much I still love to write, and beautiful life can be (I also told her to ditch her current boyfriend, but I doubt she listened -she didn't do much of that).
Luckily my bench hasn't been bought by a patron and marked with a plaque of some sort. For my big writing career -this gives me hope. I am thinking that a bronze of me sitting on that bench won't be too much to ask. I'll give London all the credit -for being my muse of sorts. Maybe not all the credit, because another of my muses is across the Atlantic and thinking of seeing him tomorrow impels me to pen a sonnet. Or two. (Sonnets are bronze worthy, are they not?)
I sat down on my bench and remembered those inspirational days, and some of the essays I wrote. For awhile I had a mental conversation with that study abroad student, as if I had tubed back in time. She was sitting there, on my bench, working on some composition for writing class. I told her how happy I was, how much I still love to write, and beautiful life can be (I also told her to ditch her current boyfriend, but I doubt she listened -she didn't do much of that).
Luckily my bench hasn't been bought by a patron and marked with a plaque of some sort. For my big writing career -this gives me hope. I am thinking that a bronze of me sitting on that bench won't be too much to ask. I'll give London all the credit -for being my muse of sorts. Maybe not all the credit, because another of my muses is across the Atlantic and thinking of seeing him tomorrow impels me to pen a sonnet. Or two. (Sonnets are bronze worthy, are they not?)
