Sneaking a post on a borrowed computer with a two year old on my knee. Here, we drift amongst green trees, watch coffee drip into a brown clay pot, swim in the lake daily. With no Internet connection or radio or TV, we yawn and watch the trees at sunset, as lizards dart at our feet. Whispering leaves sing hushed lullabies as we fall asleep to grasshoppers chants and the regular croak of a frog. Everyday, I write. Building words, wanting to take care of my characters and their lives. My daughter says that she's too tired now. I have to go and finish my tea. Watch the sky.
1 comment:
I'm not surprised that people are interested in your writing, it is entirely yours and manages to pack an awareness to life unfolding moment by moment with a sense of calm, passion, penetration and wonder. A full thereness, always. I'd love to read a whole book of Lasuza.
Thanks so much for your note about my exhibition. Disturbingly beautiful feels just right.
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