Last week before I did another three in a row work shifts, I was so proud. Had written something if only for practice, every day.
Then my body insisted on resting and sleeping, (a little like daughter Bev and family needed after Landon was born).

I felt I lost whatever keeps a writer writing, but that was faulty logic. Logic I should not conclude while too tired to think clearly.

I think I should rest when I need to, and when I get some days off, write, if I want to, nonstop.


That's what I did last night when I shared how my son died. Until daughter, Barb mentioned it I hadn't remembered this is the time of year he loved most. Fishing was great, but hunting is what he longed for. While I wanted to see leaves fall, he longed to drop a big deer, or a bigger elk.

I never thought of this before, but his idea of what was beautiful, in the streams and the woods, and the mountains, and life, was just as important to him as what I hope to see when leaves fall again.