Sipping my coffee, phone in hand, I feel grounded in the shared morning writing practice. Like a lightly held hand, our friendship reaches across the ether. It’s a sweet connection, born from a shared love of games, words, and creativity. Sometimes I strive for playful images, but there are occasions where the words push me elsewhere. Like today: the FRAIL TRAMP slumps defeated against the wall, unable to stand. He and his fellows CRAVE more than the passersby can give.

Georg’ann

Word play to start the day
To WRITE PROSE is morning glory with a friend
No striving for a GRADE
We put the BRAKE on perfection
Wordle is the FRAME
within which our imaginations
are unbound
following patterns
a CRANE might CRAVE a crate filled with fish cakes to share with his neighbor, a jovial crake named Jasper.

Heather