Imparting her beauty secrets
With farewell kisses from her pumpkin-coral lips
She slowly exhales
And gently blows the leaves from trees
Watching patiently as they
Flutter and spin to the earth below
Not to wrinkle and fade,
But to exult in their timeless glamour.
Hues of red and gold and brown
Fall like finely milled powder from a Kabuki brush
To shadow and contour the landscape
In a palette of crackling color –
Autumn’s face revealed.
Careless words, like scissors through silk,
Cut an ugly pattern.
Not meant for me, but still
Meant for others who didn’t deserve them.
I laughed along so no one would notice
The painful needles of guilt threading their way through me
Like so many stitches, fashioning an inelegant garment
Worn by so many.
I silently vowed to don different clothes
My preferred writing environment is the desk in my bedroom. My desk is a mess! It’s piled with masses of papers and receipts, jumbles and tangles of cords, along with my laptop and printer and other assorted electronic gadgets. But, it works for me. Of course I know where and what every scrap of paper is and its purpose (at least that’s what I tell myself!) And I need all of it! A bit of a hoarder? Perhaps, but I confine it just to this desk. I periodically do a sweep of it, but inevitably almost everything finds its way back onto this surface, its home.
I like to write in complete quiet, and preferably when no one else is around. At times I can’t get away from the strains of a Spongebob episode or a football game, and that’s when I close the door and the family understands that means ‘do not disturb’ (unless life and limb is in peril or there’s a food emergency). I don’t listen to music, but I sometimes have the television on with the sound muted. Occasionally for a change of pace I’ll use the laptop that’s on my kitchen counter (which is devoid of mess, go figure) but for the most part the desk in my bedroom is writing central.