I don't know that I've ever gone so long without words. These days they seem to evaporate as I type them, a little pffffft and they disappear, letter by letter. It's as if the distillation that happens when I write poetry has amped itself up so that all I have left is punctuation.
And so forth.
What I do know is that I miss the companionship of the summer sky — those soft early sunrises with their choruses of birdsong, and the spiraling trill of the robin top of the Douglas fir as the earth spins away from the light.
And the canopy of stars from my balcony.
A complaint as old as those stars, I know.
Here's Saturn if it were as close as the moon:
Here's the article from the Atlantic where I found that photo.