#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Wild gardenia in the middle of the trail

The morning call of the barred owl wakes me early through my open windows: who cooks for you, who cooks for you? Before walking I look at my new poem, revised last night, to see how I feel about it this morning – I meet with my poetry pals online tonight and hope to share it with them. But it has lost its glow. I fuss with it and don’t know if I’m improving it. I have discovered something surprising – and redemptive – about my mother in a poem I thought was about my father. I have reached that point of revision where there is only confusion and frustration, and I am ready to walk and be done with it for now. There is only a light rain this cool morning. I am so glad to be out in the fresh air of the damp woods. I stop and look into the soul of the brook and know this is a poem that needs no revision. I climb a hill and suddenly see the thick green shadowy underbelly of the ferns with the light coming through and know it’s a picture I must take, another poem that doesn’t need revision. I pass the lady slippers slipping away, day by day, they are here in bloom for such a friendly short time. Then, in the middle of the trail, a single purple wild geranium stands straight up as if it wants to meet me, and I smile, the woods are so lively and spirit filled this rainy morning. I have forgotten my fuss about the poem. I’ll share just the first stanza tonight, and that will be fine, it will be enough. I work on other things all day, and when it’s time to meet with my two poet friends I share the first stanza, at first, and say I don’t want to share the whole thing, but then, suddenly, I do share the whole thing after all, and now the poem makes sense to them, and they can actually give me feedback, and Randy says a few things that show me exactly what I’ve done, and what he says is so true and beautiful and helpful. Because I showed the whole thing, I found the secret reveal. It’s a poem about what has been shadow that is coming to light. And I felt I could tell them all about my fears and resistance, and they just listened kindly and I saw everything I needed to see about it, and I made my peace with it for now, and more than that, I realized how remarkable it is that I have written it just the way I have. It has come exactly as it is meant to come, and I can trust its mysterious wisdom is emerging.

Soul of the brook

Lady Slipper

Is that my mother nesting in my hair?