Why Don't You Write?

'Why don't you write?" they ask.

"I have nothing I want to say."

Everyone asks and the answer is still the same. Nada.  Nothing.

Nothing is as nothing does. 

Inspiration has not visited my pen.  Or my fingers. 

I am just not interested in researching anything right now.  I think about Moral Mondays.  Fracking.  Loss of civil rights.  How much more can we talk about that.  Because talk is all we do. 

In the sixties, we stood for humanity.  Animals.  Openness. Now it is Facebook and other trite social media that consumes people's attention.  I just can't, won't go there.  It bores me.  Sure it is fun to catch up on local news.  But how often can we hear the same thing over and over without doing something about it.

Complacency.  ipods, i this, i that.  i.  i the emptiness. 

A raccoon visits nightly now.  An empty bird feeder.  Paw prints on the pole that holds the feeder.  That is my world.  Feed and nurture.  The raccoon is hungry, too.  Like people.  People are hungry for sustenance. 

I like my little spot in the universe.  Nurturing.

Like I said I have nothing to write.  I have a lot to do.