The Power Of Words

Fragrant wisps of chicken soup are penetrating my deeply clogged nasal passages as I write this tucked up in bed and generally dying with what appears to be a severe cold. As fast as the day snapped into a rigid 17 degrees a cold has descended over me and taken firm hold.

I am a bit lost, the last few weeks have seemed formless, this or that has prevented me from getting into any sort of routine and my sense of continuity has been broken, this packaged with endless days of waiting has me in something of a muddle. If nothing else it is usually books that give my days structure, I look forward to the onward motion of their stories and the continuity of their essence. In that regard I have also fallen in limbo finding myself unable to get into anything with real commitment.

I went back to an old favourite this evening, Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes, I first read this book when I was 18 and still list it as one of my most loved , the tale that started my dreams of walking the Tuscan hills and of growing a feast in my garden, cooking pasta from scratch and sharing a table with friends under dappled vine leaves. Although I can't remember much of the story the mood and feeling it created are still deep within me. Frances Mayes gave me my first young glimpse of the ideal life I would like to live.

Even tonight at it's beginning pages I felt the need to leap out of bed and investigate the alchemy of the soup that is lingeringly teasing me, to take in the tantalizing smells and sights of my humble existence as she has hers. I am constantly amazed at the gifts that writers bring to our lives that I can have drawn a map for my soul or been inspired to reframe my day just by reading tells me the true power of words in our world.