Sun on snow. I turn off the radio during my drive to work, concentrate on the slippery road conditions, try not to get too distracted by the pines’ elegant white drapery or the bird silhouetted above–hawk? Crow?
This activity acts as a form of drafting poems.
Walk to the mailbox on a Saturday morning. Watch clouds. Listen to the sounds of vehicles in the distance. Observe shadows. (Also drafting.)
Lunch break walk, also drafting. Sitting indoors with a cup of tea–drafting, but only if I’m alone and watching the birds at the feeder outside.
Drafting takes more time than any other part of the poetry-writing process.
And it goes with now saying, we reap the blessing of the efforts.
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