As a writer, I like to try patterns:
Dusk
Well.
I wonder.
Was it god’s will?
My hard-drive is scrubbed.
Sticky notes of useful quotes, gone.
Any need for excerpts cut and pasted?
Sentimental souvenirs may comfort; life is lived now.
Unmoor the boat and row in currents of life.
As for my novel, a fresh draft will work wonders.
Dark
I dimly recall an Italian driver, in the movie Gumball Rally, his map blowing out the window, exclaiming,”What’s behind me is not important!”
Regrets? My posted stuff is in the cloud, others are on a thumb drive—but not the ones I wrote before I last thumbed, before Christmas.
Better than thoughts over tea are the the insights I had while soaring in a tin can, heading back from London.
Glorious, but gone.
Lost like Atlantis.
Dawn
I called someone at her home, via a 1-800 number. While the Apple store genius bar was little help, a Filipino lady one year in Canada was able to get my lost manuscripts found. Stuff on my RAM hard-drive, never posted, was somehow in the cloud. Go figure. Today I hoped I had found my lengthy copious sticky notes. But no. And no novel.
At least I could re-download a Scrivener application (for writers) for free.
As the world turns,
and time flows,
life is good.
…
…
Sean Crawford
Camrose
July
2023
Hi Sean,
I love this post! You have shared cryptically our dependance on technology and the realm of lost words and lost life pieces and always with sensibility and grace. Miss the Friday writing group but will come whenever life or weather shifts its direction.
Lanne
Thank you Lanne. I just read your comment out loud to the owner of the coffee shop here, and she said, “Nice!”