It's hard to sit down and write. It's not hard to keep writing once begun. But hard to begin. Hard to put the first mark on a clean sheet of white paper. At least I think so. To begin is like holding my breath and taking a wild jump into water I'm bracing myself against because I know its cold will be hard to bear. But if I do jump, submerge, endure the shock, start moving, then come up for air I know it will be worth it. With the movement, warmth comes. With the movement, distance is traveled and a trickle of joy appears. The page starts to fill and hopefully some of it will be useable.