#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
”The wood anemone through dead oak leaves
And in the thickest woods now blooms anew,
And where the green briar and the bramble weaves
Thick clumps o'green, anemones thicker grew,
And weeping flowers in thousands pearled in dew. . .”~Excerpt from “Wood Anemone,” by John Clare
The sun fights the clouds, loses. And in the woods I search for signs of new life. I’m discouraged, but I keep going. I have no poem yet for tonight’s Monday workshop.
I started working, yesterday, on one of the found poems from letters and then I stopped, abruptly. This isn’t going anywhere, I am wasting my time, I thought. Then, suddenly, as I’m bending low and looking very hard, I see some tiny wildflowers pumping their green out of the brown leaves into the morning, a shock of delight. And further on, one I recognize. Anemones! My first ones of the season, the tiny white and pink “weeping” flowers. So, I have energy now, on my walk, and Charlie too. Soon enough, in a few days, I trust I’ll see the green hips of the lady slippers on lady slipper way. And my daughter and I will have a contest: which one of us will see the first sign?Which one of us will see the first bud on the slipper’s stalk? This was a busy Monday, launching a webinar tomorrow for IWWG and catching up on answering e-mails and other prep and I think, well, I am mystified by what I will work on and bring tonight. Finally,, I set and open the file of the letters and say, well, I will simply take a look at what I worked on yesterday. Perhaps there is some way to redeem it. And once I open it, I feel as if I have found the anemones. Hopeful, refreshed. There IS possibility here. At least I want to try. And so I work it out to my satisfaction and through my doubt. And bring the poem tonight to group and it is well received. My readers are beginning to see what I’m doing and are able to respond so helpfully to that. I keep going. I have not yet given up. Finding a poem in a letter someone else has written–– my mother–– it is like reading the tree bark. I know there is something there and I must find what I’m supposed to find and hope I find what is meaningful and exceptional and beautiful and true.
