Having visitors to stay. Attempting to have some time off. Interesting.
Out of my normal routines, I knew I wanted to keep some writing momentum going, so I filled notebook pages as usual, though squeezed it in between other stuff and the not-much-happening brain dead times of holidays.
While the pen was busy on the page, it seemed like all I wrote about was late trains, holiday traffic, how hot it was and how the beach was always packed with people.
April is NaPoWriMo and because I'd planned a holiday break, I didn't sign up. However, I've been retrieving poems from my notebook all month, fishing them out. I've kept them together, one from each day. Kept an eye on them. And I assumed there would be a gap from my busy time unless I could patch a poem from scraps of those late trains, traffic, heat and packed beaches.
Interesting to look back with no expectation. And a lovely surprise. Hiding in the mundane, in the nondescript, in the nothing happening, everything was going along just fine, as if it was doing it without me. Fledgling poems and raw material I can come back to. More to add to my pile. One from each day. I could peg them out in a line like Royal Wedding bunting, have them breezing along the washing line, let them flutter like the tail streamers on a kite.
And some will come into shape and I'll let others fly free.