Good company

I wish I could credit the photographer of this photo. So many symbols: the bare tree; a large bird (perhaps a crow?), with maybe a few smaller birds scattered among the limbs; and a solitary woman on a swing. It makes me think of this Emily Dickinson poem.

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me —
The simple News that Nature told
With tender Majesty

Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see —
For love of Her — Sweet — countrymen
Judge tenderly — of Me

Over the past few days, I’ve had the enjoyment of reading the draft of someone’s manuscript. It’s spec fiction–i.e., outside my genre–but good writing is good writing. A good story is a good story. It was refreshing to be able to ask the writer, with honesty and enthusiasm, “May I read it?” I rarely do this, but we have a bond of trust and a history.

Writing is so solitary, and writers get so little of the validation that can help fuel us. I don’t think he needs validation from me, but I know what it feels like to receive it. And what it’s like to wish for it.

In my decades of reading and loving Emily Dickinson’s poetry, I never dreamed I’d end up with my own version of her life. She’s good company.

ETA, one day later:
The poem below showed up Thursday morning in one of my social media feeds. The poet is one whose poetry prompt book I’ve featured on here before.

The Beatles sang it early in the soundtrack of my life: “There will be an answer. Let it be. Let it be.”

Today I finished another of Fasano’s poetry prompts. Black text is Fasano’s; green font indicates where I filled in his blanks with my own words.

The Saddest Truth

I stand at the door of admission
and am afraid to speak.
But I will confess.
I go in.
I touch the pain, the agony
I touch the unremitting sustenance
in the honesty.
This is the feast of sorrow:
the memories and manipulations on the table.
What can I do but eat?
Freedom, I know you are waiting
in the sunlight.
But first I must suffer in the shadows.
First I must admit my complicity.

I put all this here not as a message to anyone who either couldn’t or wouldn’t understand it anyway. It’s a reminder to myself, because so often I require the same lesson over and over.