My face is two different colors. Three actually, but down by my nose there’s a brown side and a white side.
They’re as different as different can be, right down to the whiskers. White on the white side…
…and black on the brown side.
Mom’s writing has two different sides lately, too. Poetry and prose. She worked and worked on a story and kept getting stuck. She worked on other things, came back to the story, and got stuck again. And again.
Today, she decided to take that stuck story idea and make it into a poem. As different as can be, but she’s not stuck anymore.
Sometimes in hiking, there’s a special mark saying that the path splits.
We’re careful to choose the right path. Usually it’s pretty easy to tell.
For Mom, the correct path seems to be the poem for now. Clear sailing.