Somedays, a writer will say, I can’t do it anymore; I can’t write another story; mush has replaced my brain, and I must be brain dead. Upstairs, where thoughts are conceived, the lights are dim, my receptors aren’t transmitting, a swamp has developed, the fog is thick, and it seems I’ll never write again.
Dead trees lay in the swamp, and mosquitos, frogs, flesh-eating bugs, and bats fly through the dead spaces in the swamp. And I’ll never write again, and sadly, Kathy’s birthday is weeks away, and I ask you, will pretty words rise from the swamp, and what beautiful recital shall I read to her when I cannot conceive a thought?
However, as I pondered the dire situation, thinking all was lost, the sun shone through, and the fog cleared; the mosquitos, frogs, and flesh-eating bugs disappeared, beautiful flowers grew everywhere, and a colorful rainbow replaced the clouds in my mind. Suddenly, I knew I could write again, and on this day, after the transformation of the swamp, I wrote the beautiful Kathy Sue four recitals called A BORN LADY, IN ALL MY LIFE, A THOUSAND SUNSETS, SEARCHING FOR AN ANSWER.
I also wrote her my thoughts from the heart, called EVERY DAY, written sincerely on her cherry wood birthday card. Indeed, I must tell you there’s a blue sky behind the clouds, a rainbow following after the rain, and flowers blooming under the sun, and when the fog from the swamp clears, love for a beautiful woman remains foremost in my heart. I will write to Kathy Sue recitals that Bathsheba never heard from King David, the Queen of Sheba never heard from Solomon, Juliet never heard from Romeo, Cinderella didn’t hear from her prince. Cleopatra didn’t hear from Mark Anthony, nor did any Greek goddesses hear from the princes and king in the royal palace, nor did the lady Mona Lisa hear such recital words of admiration from Leonardo DaVinci and the love he immortalized her with paint I will do with recitals for Kathy Sue. Paul