the wine

I was just reviewing my FreeFind report for the past week. A few things jumped out.

First of, some of you read my blog, then head to the website. Right after the Mad Gypsy was referenced on my blog, people were looking her up on The City of Legends. I would love to do a joint reading with her, again, when I tour in June...Karla? You're up.

Secondly, we need to work on spelling. Someone was looking for the long form (heh heh) of my poem from the Goldenheart Cycles (isn't it about time I standardized "Goldenheart" as to how to punctuate it?) titled "Impalement". Except they spelt it "impalment", which I think means the act of becoming friends. Of course, so does "impalement" in the context of that poem, just a very different kind of friends. Sigh.

I'm tired. Life is so much hard work. There are times I wonder how the Salieris of the world get through their days without killing themselves.

Me? I have my poetry and my muse. Yeah, my muse is 2500 miles away and unlikely to get much closer anytime soon (and there is a sizable chance this will be, like so many before her, an unconsummated relationship). But, for the moments of the wine, we plant the vinyard, eternally optimistic that the chances we take, the faith we place and the work we do will all bear fruit.

For we recall the taste of the wine, when it does so honor us.