Sometimes I dream that there's a room in my house, or a building downtown, that I've never seen before. It's always a wonderful space, full of inspiration and creative potential.
It feels like I've found one in real life. You know, every day I take Daisy to town for half an hour of practice on the pipe organ at an old brick church. Last week I realized that there is an empty library room right there, with a big empty table, big windows full of sunlight and flowers, and absolute silence. I have pulled my notebook of poems out and gotten busy.
A dedicated time and place? That works.