Thus begins September

I can't help thinking how lovely it is that this September started on a Wednesday. It just feels so synchronistic. Of course, this may have something to do with the Personification Synesthesia I enjoy. (And I do enjoy it, make no mistake.) September and Wednesday just feel the same. I won't take it personally if you don't understand that. Or look at me like I'm a little bit crazy.

I came across this little delight earlier:

"A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness." --Robert Frost

Is that not perfect?

I write the first drafts of my poems in pencil. I think it's because I want to make sure I have the "sense of wrong" perfect. And a first draft isn't perfect. But I don't erase. I cross out, and write above, and scribble arrows, and interject. I want to see the journey. When it's right, then I put it in pen.

I contacted an old friend today, and thought of others I'd like to say hello to. Told myself I would say hello. And I will. Soon.

This Wednesday also graced me with the strength to forgive, and a dear friend made me laugh.

Not a bad start to September.