how to surrender the storm

I was going to write tonight about squalls. About judging the thunderous sky, and seeking shelter, and letting all your plans go when you find the path washed away by a flood. But I spent the afternoon in a storm myself, and am too tired now for metaphor.

I was also going to write something which gave you information, because they say the busiest weblog posts are the ones with "how to" in the title, and I know that's true. But I am too tired to care now about statistics. If you want to know about how to safely travel a storm, you'll need to find some rain for yourself. I'm off in a minute to make a mug of hot chocolate.

The instinct of the storyteller is to write everything down : to use the storm, and the cold, for purposes leading to a poem, a sentence, a novel. I feel odd when I experience something only once - the living of it, without the writing down of it. I am restless for days, even years, until I have the moment set in words.

But I know too that a storyteller must understand the letting go. Not everything needs to be told. Some nights, hot chocolate is more important.


  1. "not everything needs to be told"

    oh yes. i often stop myself from telling because of this truth

  2. Sorry, the spammers are quite problematic right now. I'm trying to avoid installing captcha codes by disabling comments on the posts they target. But soon I might have to bring back captcha for a little while.