I woke up whining to myself that my writing is “going nowhere.” But remembered something Jon Kabat Zinn wrote about how people new to meditation keep expecting it to be something more that what they are experiencing. It is what it is, he says, essentially. And I remembered downhill skiing lessons — the instructor said to be always in the process of turning: initiate the turn, bend into it, rise out of it, initiate again. So my writing is what it is and it always is. Even when I’m not in the act of writing, I’m observing — the furled flag of birch bark flapping wildly in the wind, the sudden snowstorm in the woods coalescing into the stark black and white of woodpecker dashing among trees, and trying to make patterns, sense, to make words from the impulsed utterance of “oh!” Finding my readers, though, that’s another process all together, isn’t it? Or is it? A submission here, a reading there, a posting right here — I’m always in the process of finding a reader. Bending in to the process and rising up.