Bear with me here

I see I didn't write at all in June.  Covid Depression got the better of me and I found that I could not write anything- except snarky FB posts about Trump, but those don't count

Last night, I had an awesome dream and I really should have written it down.  I was at my friend Donna's place and she was having some kind of salon, where we sat discussing paintings and books and poetry.  One of the poems was one I had written- sorry I can't remember what it was but it was relatively short.  everyone seemed to enjoy it and began discussing what it meant.  They turned to me to explain and I said "what it means to you is what it means.  Don't try to figure out what I meant, but determine what it means to you.  That is what poetry is, you bring your own meaning to it."

I have a degree in English and spent a great deal of time discussing Chaucer and Shakespeare and T.S. Eliot and Wallace Stevens.  We were always trying to tease out the exact intent of the writer.  I wonder if my thought in my dream isn't closer to the mark of study.  What DOES that poem, that painting that play SAY to YOU?  The most fun, for me and I know I'm weird, is talking about art in terms of what emotion it evokes.  When you re-read a novel, you are bringing new insight  to the work, because you have had different experiences. Since the first time you read it, you may have gone somewhere the novel reminds you of, met someone, done something, and that changes and deepens the meaning and experience for you.

I should really talk to my friend Donna about this, she does dream interpretation, but maybe it was a signal to start writing again.  I might try.