April, Cheryl has told me for the past eight years or so, is Poetry Month. And Mel impressed the snot out of me last year by writing thirty poems during April.
I took the challenge this year and to date, have written seven poems.
They're hugely crappy, but it is a fun exercise and much different than writing fiction, giving me a break from the latest novel, which I needed, as it was scaring me on a number of different levels.
Now I have no idea if the two things are related, but for the past week, my dreams have been really extraordinary, with clarity of symbols and vivid imagery that have left me bemused when I wake, wakeful because I don't want to stop thinking about them.
Most notable was a dream in which the focus was just on Bernie, and how very, very much I love him. He's been off work for a year now, so I'll take that dream as a good sign that I won't get tired of having him near at hand all the time.
Maybe it will be a prompt for a poem.