A Man Loves the Meat In His Youth That He Cannot Enjoy In His Age

“If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn’t brood. I’d type a little faster.” Isaac Asimov

I have decided that summer is not for writing. Despite the setbacks, despite the rust that develops in my fingernails. I’d rather be outside – learning, loving, recharging. Then, and only then, can I return to the paper and ink to make reality into something less real but more true. Much like the deceiving beauty of a thunder cloud, the subtle signs of wind on the grass, or when air becomes visible. A time must come when I will chose between living and writing. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.