024 - Copy

Oh, yes.

I can’t help myself. language bubbles up in me like water in a fountain.

The play of words tickles my heart, like the sweet music of a brook.

My fingers are jubilant  dancers on the keyboard.

When I am solidly in the act of writing my regular eyes rest,  and my writer’s eyes  peer into the  deep  lair of  secrets.

Each time sentences coalesce  I’m left  as giddy as first love.

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