In my pocketses

in this pocket
of silence
we keep our words

(from Three Ways of Searching)

March has been a very full pocket of silence overflowing like loose change… like stones for skipping across the surface of conversation.

Skipping stones
Skipping stones

See, the thing is, when I have too much to say, it’s like a traffic jam. Nothing gets through. Or very little, and only as a trickle.

One thing I want to say, the thing that must get through in that small trickle of word-traffic, that one smooth stone in my pocket, is this: thank you. Thank you to the All Nine regulars and their muses for holding up their end of the blogging weight, and for making me smile with their limericks. Thank you readers, friends, sharers, regular commenters for keeping this tribe alive. Thank you, God, for this warm and quiet pocket in a cold season.

So… what have I got in my pocketses now?

 

No, not string. Not nothing.

[I couldn’t help myself. Tolkien was begging to be referenced.]

But, I am not Bilbo Baggins. And I am not Gollum, either. All is not lost. My words are not lost, nor are they so “precious” as to leave me desolate.

My pockets simply wait for the right moment to be emptied.

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