“When I began to listen to poetry, it’s when I began to listen to the stones, and I began to listen to what the clouds had to say, and I began to listen to others. And I think, most importantly for all of us, then you begin to learn to listen to the soul, the soul of yourself in here, which is also the soul of everyone else.”

~ Joy Harjo

I dreamed of masks. Forgetting them, and feeling guilty. Then being generously provided with them. Out my window, first glimpse of day, frost. The grass in the shade under my feet is frosted. Sun begins to melt it, but it’s more wintry than autumnal, there is a bit of bite. It’s a one-picture morning at the river, into the wetlands, past the brook. Nothing clicks. But it’s a pleasant walk in fresh air. I have written and sent my weekly Aim for Astonishing writing prompt, that is satisfying. There are wisps of ice in the wetlands. That’s satisfying too. Indoors, I decide to open the poem I drafted yesterday; no, can’t yet call it a poem. It was the start, and I start over, and get a little bit further, and it’s frustrating. Because I am further along and not yet there and not sure what it needs. So, I appreciate very much finding this Joy Harjo quote to sleep on, to dream on. It’s a problem of listening. Listening. It’s an opportunity of listening. And trusting.