Last week, I finally got the weather I needed to go to the lake and the river. Sunday, I woke up with a poem drifting around my head like a bat around a lamp. Coincidence? Hardly.

I don’t write a lot of poetry, but the dearth of it in the last few months has seemed a dangerous sign to me, like not seeing bees in spring, or a suspicious lack of lichens on the trees. Poems are a good sign of creative energy levels returning.

It wasn’t a wonderful kind of poem. Kind of macabre in fact, and horrible. But not everything that flutters out of the dark night of a soul is a beautiful creature. For now, it’s enough that I caught one!

Million Word Madness  15,089