Woke this morning with the line “Hope is the thing with feathers” dancing in my head. Woke with energy and enthusiasm for the weekend of writing ahead. Woke settled in the place where hope and reality coexist comfortably, at least for the moment.

Why is that?

Is it the sunshine? Some invisible promise of a warmer day ahead? Is it last night’s satisfying session with the page? Or the chapter with which I am at last coming to peace? Is it a healthy dose of self-forgiveness—the thing we hope for but so rarely achieve?

In this emotional roller coaster that is a writer’s life, one dreams of days like these. I know they don’t last. We treasure them when they arrive; suffer with them when they pass. “It is what it is” is not resignation…it is the gentler way of the world.

The chapters ahead invite me. The chances of the plot say, what the hell, go for it, at least for now. The characters are finding their feet…a kind of serene nobility that bows its head to no one, least of all me. I sense the Whole. The Continuum. I glimpse the alternate world. I do not stumble over my own thoughts. I fly.

That thing with feathers? It tickles. As feathers are supposed to do.

Please don’t forget… Tomorrow will see the second installment of The Spiritkeeper on http://mystorylives.blogspot.com/  McGill meets a most extraordinary man, David Emory, in a most unusual circumstance.  See you there.

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