Dear Family, Friends, and Gentle Readers,
The wind is up and strong not here at the bottom of the canyon, but over in the basin area. Funny how it works that way.
Today we have another clear, blue-on-blue day out in the 'Bu.
Lacking any words of wisdom (or folly or ineptitude) myself today, I would share with you a poem from William Blake--easily one of the weirdest guys to write poems in English.
Since William Blake was a guy, this short poem is written from the male point of view, but I think it can be easily transposed for all to enjoy or commiserate. It's a short statement of lament, putting you in the 1st person POV of noticing that someone ALWAYS seems to have it better than you do and gets what YOU want and are unable to attain, with little or no effort.
"The Angel" by William Blake
I asked a thief to steal me a peach;
He turn'd up his eyes.
I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down:
Holy and meek she cries.
As soon as I went an Angel came:
He wink'd at the thief
And smiled at the dame,
And without one word spoke
Had a peach from the tree,
And 'twixt earnest and joke
Enjoy'd the Lady.
Those damn angels...
A writing exercise: Go to the library and check out a novel by a writer you hate in a genre you hate (you don't own one, or DO you?). Critique and rewrite their opening chapter for them. This is a lot of fun actually. Caution; you might actually discover they're better than you thought of them.
Gotta work, see you tomorrow.