4th March 2012 Sunday
Find I can’t write about my father’s Thanksgiving service last Friday. Even though I want to. Even though it was wonderful.
And because I can’t write about it I can’t write about anything else. So I have stranded myself here - lost in writing limbo - feeling weak with a pulled muscle in my chest and a sharp pain around my heart.
I hear an old mocking voice my head that says -
No such word as can’t......can’t means won’t.
Today we walked in sunshine with a dear friend by a churned up river, through a park splashed with purple crocuses, and along a sea promenade. Her dog, a young brown and white splodged pointer, danced around us and then ran faster than a cheetah, into a field - on the hunt for a squirrel or a pigeon - a streak of pure joy flashing through the cold wind.
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