startings

I have never been one for beginnings.

Even less so I imagine for endings.

Usually, I need some other outside catalyst to force me out of inertia and into doing.

In my head is a great untested universe of creative urgings. These soon pass. I have behind me a long sinewy trail of thoughts never said, poems never penned, degees never writ.There are roads still longing for my step and woods that may ever yearn for my company!

And I am good with that.

Somewhere along the way I never found a beginning gene. It went the way of blue eyes and strong fingernails and just never arrived. I suspect that it skipped a generation and some of my children got it instead.