Thinking has been coming filtered through a stone wall, and I think it’s time for a break. I have watched the oil slowly empty from the vessel streaming into arid sand-driven land, disappearing from sight.
Went into the storehouse to collect a bushel of words to upload, the baskets were empty.
The inkwell is dry, the mouse is caged, and the blank screen is not sending invitations.
The train arrives on time, but the platform is empty of boarders.
The track is long, words are short, overdue for a scrivener’s vacation.
And God whispered, come away with me and rest for a time.