Talking to Myself

I know that we should all be writing as we live through, experience, this historical time. Historians will write these stories, and we don't know what those stories will say. As Bill Barr points out, history is written by the winners. 

We, those millions of us just trying to get through history, are not, are unlikely to be, the winners. Those of us who keep diaries, or journals, or write poems or emails or actual letters to those we care for, will provide, perhaps, an alternative to official histories. These private notes are important. They are the grist, the truth, of our era. 

Yet I resist my own, small, obligation. I pick up my mostly blank journal, and set it down again. I make notes in a poetry class, put them aside, and do not pick them up again. 

These small notes are my attempt to begin again. It seems that I can use my own art journal pages as writing prompts. When words stick in my brain, in my heart, sometimes images are able to leak out onto a page. And sometimes those images give me a direction for words. 

This is day five.