Funny, in a non-comical way,
but I always find comfort in...
The dark ink flowing from the pen
staining my pages with scratches
that some how have meaning.
A few simple twitches of my fingers-
thumb, pointer, middle, and ring to be exact.
An elegant gliding of the
bottom right side of my palm and wrist
back and forth against the paper...
(sometimes it's the only thing I understand)
and suddenly there are words!
Delicate combinations of symbols
and thousands of possibilities.
To write one thing...
. . . and mean another,
leaving all translations
up to the reader.
What can you make of that?