My time is very precious to me, and I have less of it then I would like. As always there are more invitations, projects, and books to read then I could ever fit in the hours of a day, but now in particular I’m guarding it more carefully. I’m tired and going quietly mad. I crave time to create. I crave privacy. A private world away from city lights. It’s summertime and the green things are luscious & ripe bidding me hide myself in their dark foliage. Undressed in mysteries. I’m looking to spend less energy on spending my time. A conservation effort to save the wild things. My pen points exactly to what it wants. Exacting ink from the page as blood from my arm. Slick with sweat, brow crossed, double back, pen wet with lips parched of familiar voices. The city is buzzing and I am silent waiting for my time to strike. Clouds are forming around this creative peak. Obscured temporarily, you will hear my thunder approaching.