Today, Jennifer and I woke to the alarm, trying to start a new routine of waking early, before our little man beckons us arise with the sound of his melodious voice regaling the glory of UPTRUCKS!
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about revision--the hard work of revising writing, rewriting sections, re-envisioning characters and ideas and scenes. But this has led me into pondering the revision of life, too--the hard work of, well, revising sections of our lives, the characters we've become, the ideas we house, and the scenes we people.
So, during this early morning, I scribbled the following poem on revision:
After Birth
First attempts sprout like fire--
Their germination is surrounded
By the warm air of possibility.
But coldness always comes,
And busy hands tire.
Hold the palms you would forsake
Before your very face.
Breathe softly onto them,
Warming them for the task ahead.
Learn to believe again.
Revision does not leap in flame,
But its dream is still the same:
To grow a new creation,
To release it by name.
It will sprout legs and walk to tame
The beasts of doubt, despair,
Fear, and fame.
