Much ado about nothing. That's how I feel about writing in my journal this afternoon. With the sun shining outside I should be walking but I had my granddaughter, her partner and my darling great granddaughter Willa visiting. Willa runs everywhere. She knows the building where I live. Going for lunch? She runs into the dining room enchanting all the old folks with her smiles.
Let's see the fish. She runs to the fish tank. Let's see the birds. She runs to the two caged birds. By the time the family left I was pooped. I do love them dearly.
I don't like seeing cages birds. I read their bird minds. I know they want out to fly around and stretch their wings. But is that my fancy? When you're hatched and live all your life in a cage that is all your know.
I shall not go all philosophical how all human beings live within the structure they were born into, within reason, of course. Life's journey is all I have and I live it as best I can. There's a big section in the National Post newspaper on dying and how we do it. Right now I want to think about something else.
Our librarian encourages us to write about our lives. A paragraph. A sentence. A book! She is dropping items/ideas around the building. Our task is to choose one of them and write about it. Imagination is the key.
Alas. How many people imagine? Create stories inside their heads? I suggested we first of all have a workshop titled.
Writers have vivid imaginations. They create stories from scraps of information. Or they make it all up!
Do you have an imagination? What do you do with it?
Comment Please
Anita
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