melancholyEven when I feel that pull, sometimes I just can't write a standard entry. This was another of those mornings, so after trying awhile, I instead turned to writing poetry. It's almost as if there are multiple jacks I can plug into, and usually when one doesn't work, words flow freely once I connect to the other. I'll likely post my new poem at night. That's when it belongs.
Free until 17:00, then dinner at the Assistant Pastor's house (a celebration for my Stephen Ministry class from spring). Apparently their two-year-old daughter, Emma, is very excited that I am coming over and has picked a book for me to read to her. Why she is so fond of me is a mystery to her parents and to me. Perhaps someday I shall be a father.
