Outside my office window, the Mississippi is flowing by. Today it mainly reflects the blue-tinged white of the sky, then a darker gray where the banks cast their shadows. I am on the north bank watching its now westerly meander.

Amid the office chaos, I’m trying to writing, trying to throw myself down into that lazy drift from the eighth floor of this lovely old bank building where I (and a thousand like me) earn my daily bread. Then my neighbor coughs, I tighten in fear. I remind myself to breathe, look again out the window and remember that I can flow that easily too, let the words gush onto the page and dive to the depths of the poignant ache of Stella’s heart as she misses home but fears returning to it.

Eddies turn me around. Should Stella take up the great metaphorical hobby of knitting? How will this battle between the two mothers conclude? Does Willie crave war or cigarettes? Will anyone ever care as much as I do about these small matters of their lives?

Oh, yes, this river is very deep indeed.

This post was originally written January 10, 2007 for the private blog of my writing group, Novel-ties.