Why we Write Because we have observed Because we have thought Because we had a dream Because we sought.

Or maybe a god spoke to us in a leafy garden while we were naked just opening our eyes to the dawn, or a child laughed at us from a car window passing by in the street, their face pressed flat against the glass, the nose making that piggy look as the missing-teeth smile flashes. Or maybe love left us and on another day discovered us on the porch with a glass of tea in the long summer sun of evening. And when we observed the god observing us, or laughed with the child laughing with us, we the writer danced and gasped and the muse under us all danced with us and whispered a lake of words upon which we hop, lithe and sharp to the source. Because we must, and maybe if we didn't,... it would all disappear.

© The Jotter 2011