Can’t stop texting my sweet Nurse, but I manage.
Now, Composed. True Composition.
Kids asleep, as I messaged her. Time to think, collect.
Meeting in the morning, a bit irked but still alert. Nothing hurt.
This writer, working all days and hours in this Central Oregon office.
Trying to mimic the Nurse’s hours. I could, never. But, trying. Saying to Self I can…
Tiring. Time for bed. Know that’s what the writer need do, especially if he’s to wake early, run and prove something to Self.
On the Mountain tomorrow, one of my favorite acts. The Summit, that elevation and view. Still can’t get the Nurse out of my head. Some will use this against me, but their floppy piggy minds are like cripple cartwheels on a condemned street. Please, keep going…
The writer, still writing in Sunriver, grateful, and disbelief that this is my life. You know what, I’m going to continue in that speak, and how I share it ONLY with my kids, and my Queen Nurse. Everyone else is an exhibit rarely visited.
Temp falling, not as hot. Posting this, then bed. Two days till she’s here…
Collected, calm— COMPOSITION.