I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: December 2021
We are human.
We need places to go and people to see.
Beyond adventure, we need routine.
Wake up and dream.
It’s Monday; the weekend is over.
Follow the path back to work, but take the time to notice all that surrounds you.
Become acclimatized to your daily reality.
It will change, and so will you.
12/13/2021 j.g.l.
Posted on December 12, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
I have not been writing as much as I usually do.
My personal journal keeps me centered, providing a place for random thoughts.
It’s important to write down what you are thinking.
If I am not writing, am I not thinking?
12/12/2021 j.g.l.
Posted on December 11, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Your whisper fair warns us, yet still
we are surprised. The calendar’s last page,
and we are left feeling more. Always.
Winter: a beginning comes near the end,
while the end craves new beginnings.
The longest season, physically, or
spiritually. Consistency, year over year,
over year, from one into the next.
Cold, as it is darker. Light is appreciated,
and necessary. We grow up knowing,
the facts of this season. Always,
our lives marked by winter.
Time, and years, have become forgotten,
but we are reminded. The soil
and silence, frozen. Our insular existence,
non-secular pain, wind-chafed emotions,
a reminder again. We desire
a warm touch; December, January or
otherwise. Hope, as with autumn’s last leaf,
dangling in a greater stillness.
A confessional. Always. Dormancy
until early spring, what we allow or when
we embrace. Silence. Darkness.
We need not be surprised.
Impulse knows. We have been here before.
©2017 j.g. lewis
