Today as I lay curled, cat like upon pillows in the long awaited sunshine thoughts spun and whirled through my mind and once again I became frustrated at my inability to capture what in my mind emerges as beautifully formed streams of prose, yet when I attempt to catch these whirling shining perfect phrases I am it seems unable, slowed down by my body's inability to keep up with my mind dancing faster and further ahead of my feeble fingers.
But despite the desire to write I was compelled to stay, drawn to the sun, like any reptile, basking, desperate to fully warm through it's body, thoughts of the long winter months unable ever to be entirely warm for now driven away by the heat of the rays caressing my skin, soothing my joints, easing loose my knotted muscles working over hard in their ever fruitless efforts to hold my body together.
I try to write longhand, to see a screen impossible in the bright light but more unable to face the gloom and chill of the room I spend most of my time a prisoner in, seeming so far away from the warmth of the healing rays. My hand can no longer grip the pen as my shoulder screams in pain from this level of effort so I swap to the other hand and try that for a couple of arduous sentences before becoming frustrated enough to see if I am able to write with my toes. I am but cannot control the pen enough to make anything out and so finally, for now, I concede defeat.