"If your everyday life seems poor, don't blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the poet there is not poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world's sounds--wouldn't you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attention to it...."
I haven't opened this piece of mail. That is Jill's job, because if I happen to be a judge of the upcoming contest, I can't know who any of the authors are.
Oh, but the curiosity is killing me.
It's wonderful how writing can in many ways give us wings. In my life it has.
ReplyDeleteThat's beautiful, Mary.
ReplyDelete