The pen that lies on the desk across the room from where I sit is not moving. It is still . . .
It’s not waiting . . . that would be me doing that . . . and it, the pen, hasn’t run out of ink . . . and, in truth, it’s hardly idle . . . that pen . . .
. . . taunts the writer . . .
. . . teases the thinker . . .
. . . sneers at the timid . . .
. . . reminds the bill payer and the shopper and the list maker and the parent . . .
And, yet, has remained perfectly still . . .
. . . while being actively engaged with the energies surrounding it . . .
I suspect it is my teacher
While it hasn’t done a thing.
see?
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