is this not the coolest pen EVER? My son gave it to me for Christmas. He said, “for your booksignings, Mom.” I was never so touched . . . and this pen will be a cherished item forever. I love the red (red being a favorite color) love the curve of it, love love the tin box it comes in with the old car and “highway of writing.” I have never had a pen this nice before, ever. I snapped this photo of me signing my Secret Graces contract–the first item of business for this fine pen. It writes Perfectly!
And I did not hear, and so, Sun is reaching reaching into the room, and its beam has touched my arm, and I not only see it, but I feel it. Sun has laid its beam on my am, gently, telling me to stop ignoring what is outside, to lift my head and see and feel and be and enjoy–experience. For, Sun says, why should those characters get to feel it all? Why should they experience while you watch them, writing down their words and actions and thoughts…why, Sun says, are you not acknowledging me, for I am powerful, and beautiful, and I warm your face, and I help heat your log house, and I cause shimmers over the mountain, and glance off the bark of trees turning them silver, and I peek into shady areas to capture critters, and penetrate the creek water turning spashes into diamonds–have you not noticed me yet? For I’ll be gone soon behind the clouds. And I do, now I do, for Sun has touched my arm, has entered my window, stretched its beam and laid upon my arm its warmth–it does not burn me, but we both know it could, if it desired, if it wanted.
There is a point of the beam where I can’t look upon it…each time I try to look at it directly, my eyes burn and I have to look quickly away, and I wonder at that, how the Sun beam is on my arm and I can feel it and look upon it with comfort, yet, a mere foot or scant foot away lies the beam across the wood and I can’t look on it, for it hurts my eyes.
It is quiet this morning, Sun makes no sound as it goes about its business. The silence calls me to listen.