I’ve been busy working on those adjuncts that go with getting Rain out into the world: covers, blurbs, loglines, teeny-tiny things on my author Facebook page (S.E. Hudnall), and waiting, perhaps not as patiently as I would like or should, for feedback from beta readers, so I can put on the final polish and proof. Snow is being submitted, chapter by chapter, to my critique group. And, for no reason I can fathom, my sci-fi love story seems to be peculating as well. It’s a long list and a story too long for blogging. I must write faster. I want four of them out before the end of next year. I think I can do that. I believe I can.
But . . . perhaps I have an inflated sense of my own capabilities, or maybe I’m just a cock-eyed optimist. Like this one I found in my backyard Sunday morning.
A piece of trash . . . surely
Blown in by some capricious wind
A remnant of someone’s overload refuse bin
Now caught in the skeletal branches
Of leftover summer flowers
But . . . no.
One single white iris
Blooming low to the groundShy, but hopeful.
Whispering . . .
I’m here. Is winter gone yet?