When the heat is on, it’s outside my window. I live in the desert—magnificent
sunsets and stunning skies that’ll make you believe in miracles.
But heat is
not something I think about when I think about my writing.
My best writing
comes in the quiet times, the whispers, the gentle nods of the wind.
It comes unexpectedly when I’m not looking or
asking for anything other than the truth.
Such a beautiful last line...
ReplyDeleteWonderful, Jen. Love this.
ReplyDelete