Moments, come and gone, tide of my life. And the Before, when I could write so clear-eyed, when my pen would wildly paint a page and I could tell someone January glittered and skies were grey-feathered, the Before of an imagination with wings and space and words that scritched and scraped and slushed and stormed and recalled and transformedEverydays into collages of twinkling letters, explosions of purple, teal, orange dreams, reactions to impossibilities...the Before has surrendered to a paralysis of imagination. And i hate it. Never before have I experienced the waging of war behind my eyes like the present. For so long I have taken moments to recall sights and sounds....at the beach, in my room, a cafe and I have been able to depart the world of seeming and land in the world of dreaming and i have always been capable of reiterating the journey. but tonight, as i experience more transformation of the heart and mind...this vile screaming invades those moments. and it strangles the voices of seashells, drowns the tinkling of blue beaded strings dropping on hardwood floors, silences splashes of moonlight and i fight and i fight...and the images are blurred in the screams. i am so tired of naked paper. evenso, i smile knowing i hear the need to tell a story of watercolored hope and to explain the backsplash of a sunset and how it makes the western mountains blush. and as thick black fights to rip the pink lace of a cloud, i will write, even if all i can recall is the horrific war of colors currently deafening my ability to imagine.