RETURNING TO THE WORLD



This is what you wake to: the world new blue, the streetlight nearly moon.  Your book is done, or nearly done for now.  The world that waited patiently went silent.  The dream youā€™ve tended through four seasons moved on to someone else.  Itā€™s the readerā€™s dream right now; youā€™ve let it go.  Mr. Marsworth. Reenie.  Theyā€™re probably on a desk now in New York.  Of all the writing seasonsā€”first glimpse, the wild beginning, writing and rewriting, seeing new and starting over--this one, this perfectly done day, this moment of new winter when you wake to new blue silence, this ending as beginning, itā€™s this season you love most.  If you never wrote another word, you will have this.  And isnā€™t that enough?   How beautiful it is.  How faithful.  How patiently it waited.  How much it wants you back where you belong.

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