Sanctuary

In this place of symbol and silence, he's still alive.

Rain falls, but we stay dry. Nothing can touch us. Clouds move above us, going east to west, and patches of sunlight slide between the edges. The weather can't touch us, and everything's golden and misted and blurred.

In this perfect sanctuary of meaningless reality, he has no scars. His heart beats properly. There is no dust settling on the piano keys. He is still alive, and I've never been more alive.

Sunlight, the real thing, and it's morning.

I turn over, the bedsprings creaking, and fight to stay asleep.

Still mulling sleep.

For writers with kids, the book I have "I'd Rather Be Writing", by Marcia Golub, has a couple of chapters on things to try in order to fit writing around the demands of kids. I'd summarize, but I'm at work and propping the book up next to the computer might attract attention.

Hey, all. "I'm back and I'm a bloody animal!" And on topic, stupid spyware made it so I couldn't write either, all weekend.

Deb, what a beautiful drabble.

Welcome back, Erika!

Thank you...it was quite the torment for me. And not the sexy kind. And Techie Dave is as a god. Even if he thinks I'm cognitively impaired. Guess I've got to finish stuff now. My computer was like a lava lamp all weekend.

internet wife! *There* you are.

Yep, here I am. Glad to be back.

(passes erika lemon bread) hard computer weekend?

Yep...big technical problem...seems that the techie got it though. Maybe this week, I'll send what I've got as far as "crip noir"ETA: My tag is funny in this thread. But that is what happens when you e-mail your friend the editor at 7:30 AM.

Dudesse, you are the noirest crip in all the land, and you know it.

Of course I'll beta anything you like.