reprieve

When the noise of the world is getting louder and louder, reprieve.  When your body aches, your mind is wired, and the answers won’t come, reprieve.  When the eggs burn and the parking meter expires, claim five minutes and turn off the phone.  Let your toddler play at your feet.  Set the emails aside for now.  Reprieve.  Grab your journal, a napkin, a receipt.  Dig the pen from your satchel.  Find a corner, the potty, a sidewalk in the sun.  Sit in your car at the end of the drive while the baby sleeps.  Reprieve.  Start the sentence, ‘what I need is…’ and fill in the blank over and over.  Don’t take that pen from the paper.  Let it ride.  Over and over, complete that sentence.  Hear your heart whisper and shout.  She will sing to you if you let her.  Reprieve.  When a page fills, start a new sentence.  This time write ‘what I want is…’ and fill some more.  Keep completing that sentence, onto paper let it spill.  Repeat your wants over and over if they need to be heard.  Reprieve.  From head and heart, trust what comes.  Write until your arm aches.  Do not stop.  But go now.  Five minutes.  Take the reprieve.

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