Someone thought today was Poetry Day. Well, why not? Poetry does not need a special day to exist. It is. In honour of this day, which coincidentally is the fourth anniversary of the purchase of my kick-ass hunting boots — still going strong — and the first day cool enough to wear jeans after the long, hot summer, I read Maya Angelou’s poem, Phenomenal Woman. You might like also like to do so, and see how you measure up to her glorious celebration of her being.
Concurrently, as I opened my e-mail account today, I was pondering about all the information floating about in cyber-space. How readily we hurl words into the ether (admittedly, as well-ordered as we might), without a care for where they land, or how they might later be retrieved!
I see that, from the so-called Facebook memories, that on this day in 2014, I wrote no fewer than 1,589 words as a personal update. I have now copied and pasted them into a Word file, for they are worth keeping. There is a more efficient way of doing such things, I know. I downloaded “everything” on my Facebook page in March, but oh, I have added so much since. At least I know where that particular piece of writing is; for now anyway, since I am not methodical, and nowhere near as solid as the rocks and shells in my little flowerbed arrangement pictured here.
©2018 Allison Wright
Note: This is a “ten plus ten” (ten minutes of writing followed by ten minutes of fissling about).