Whenever I can't write it feels like the bucket is sitting at the bottom of the well dredging for sludge..I pull the rope taught and up she comes with a hopefull thuddding sound.knowing full well I will harvest the dregs..Down she goes again.
Muddy thud.

Jules Verne shoots me to the moon as a sit silently in the desolate belly of spherical crater listening for truth or dare....but. just dead air .