Writing Will Be Like A

There's Light And Joy, But There's Also Darkness All Around And We Can Be Lost In It.

She Finds Tales Everywhere, In Grains Of Sand She Picks Up From The Garden, In Puffs Of Smoke That Drift Out From The Chimneys Of The Village, In Fragments Of Smooth Timber Or Glass In The Jetsam. She Will Ask Them, "where Did You Come From? How Did You Get Here?" And They Will Answer Her In Voices Very Like Her Own, But With New Lilts And Squeaks And Splashes In Them That Show They Are Their Own.

Truth And Dreams Are Always Getting Muddled.

I Sit In My Tree I Sing Like The Birds My Beak Is My Pen My Songs Are My Poems.

Writing Will Be Like A Journey, Every Word A Footstep That Takes Me Further Into Undiscovered Land.