When I write or talk to writers, the problems of the world can be solved at least for a little while.

My Happy Place
At a keyboard or with a pen in hand
Playing with words on an empty page.
A thesaurus, a dictionary, a book of idioms,
Pictures from my albums or from the Internet,
Ideas jumping as fast as I can type.
I read the words aloud. One dog cocks her head.
Two snore on, twitching with dreams,
Or pretending to. Warm and comfortable though
It’s snowing outside.
Sometimes I spend too long, and my neck hurts.
Sometimes I let the household chores go.
Often I turn down a request to go here or there.
I’m writing.
I’m in my happy place.
Please let me stay another hour?
Thanks, honey. You were so right
When you pushed me through the black zone
Of depression, back to the keyboard,
Where hope refuses to die,
And truths can be told, and feelings explored,
And I feel like myself again.