Goodness

Though not as “technically enabled” as the majority of younger writers, I nevertheless have to confess that I do spend time on the web that could probably be spent on more productive pursuits.  I occasionally (while looking for inspiration, mostly) come across blogs and interviews with “emerging writers,” that is, those that are in, or approximately in, the same place as myself as far as the writing and publishing process is concerned.  What strikes me, over and over, is the personal goodness and caring that these writers, these people, seem to possess.  I may not always care for their writing, literary taste being a very subjective thing, but I find comfort in the character and social concern of these writers.  I sometimes wish that these qualities would be more evident in their writing—but then again, maybe they are, in a manner too subtle for an old duffer like me to get. 

     Outside, the last of the pomegranates are gone, eaten by us or the birds.  The oranges are beginning to ripen, and a little warmer weather will see them through.  The butterflies and hummingbirds are gone for the year, although I did see a giant swallowtail caterpillar on the rue a few days ago.  I haven’t the heart to see if she survived the freeze that lasted a few nights.