what good are words?

"What good are words I say to you?

 They can't convey to you what's in my heart.

 If you could hear instead, the things I left unsaid."

I like those days when I head out in my little gray car and the big ole sky is blue but I'm not. 

Everything feels right.  Traffic flows at a zippy pace and each light seems timed to keep me moving.  I weave.  I skip fourth gear and slide right into overdrive.  No hesitation.  

No hesitation.  Just write.

Why isn't it working?  I've lots to say yet I sit here and cry. 

I don't know why.

I was crying before I caught up with the stack of newspapers and read about Ivy dying; the hen Mariana Greene writes about in her Dallas Morning News column.  I was crying for my friend whose heart is heavy.  And I'm crying for my friend about to lose her mother any minute now. 

I can't convey what's in my heart!

"What should I do, Mom?" I asked, my eyes turned up to heaven.

She's always been my guide; pragmatic and very strong-willed with beliefs I feel her pass on to me with each passing day.  From "Think positive!" to "If something isn't good for your body, just don't eat it," she'd say.  Simple as that. 

"If you can't write," I heard her whisper, "get up and walk away." 

Walk!  Yes, I need to walk.  Simple as that.  

I got on the treadmill and walked a mile and a quarter, searching for words, words which would be good to say.  If they don't come, I hope my friends can hear instead, the things I've left unsaid. 





Time After Time  1947
Sammy Cahn, Jule Styne