That would be life...

The last few days an Emily Dickinson poem keeps resurfacing in my consciousness...where is it coming from? I'll be in the middle of the mundane...dishes, laundry, watering parched flowers, and there it is. It would be life, it says. And life is over there behind the shelf...

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I've risen early every day for the past few days to write my "Morning Pages," as prescribed by The Artist's Way. There is no if, just and.