It is often "funny frustrating" to me how the creative process chooses to work, how and when it chooses to make you the "creator". As though the creative process takes on a life essence of its self and, not bothering to whisper, shouts loud and clear "You there! You are MY muse. Now it is time to have my way with you." This means rain or shine, 8:30 morning calls or burning the midnight oil...you are essentially the creative process's bitch. My what a whirlwind adventure that
can be is!
As my tweet from post-Thrive stated "A walk in the woods demands a camera, flip-flops (a girls gotta be 1 w/ nature ;), note taking apparatus (ie phone w/ #Evernote) #prepared." When in doubt...take a walk on a beautiful Autumn day, camera in tow and let the moment take ahold of you. Remember the brewing words? How about a poem?!? A poem? How sweet. What poem would that be?*
A hailing specimen from the halls of
Eric the Red, they call him blood
His might unquestioned
Festooned with a warrior's reapings
He is a crisp and bone depth nectar of his ancestors
A walking figure among the throngs
Of knowledge hungry Yale and Harvard minors
He is hidden there, silent and bidding
Donning fishermen sweaters and rimmed wisdom
Giant and unwavering as a tree
Fire branded roots and bearded fiercely
Perhaps a pirate, searching for earth's time, that he may bed her
Capturing, besting that which he would have always
A musk pervading the senses with his harvests
He is basking baked delight
A glowing presence in the window of a chilling breath
The shrill echoes of a child's memory
Weaving savvy, a sweet containment
Patient as he salvages
Kissing Summer's envy
The punching crunch heard on every corner
You must not forget him
Thin steel fingers mercifully cold
Bone chilling, larger than mine
His grounding is inducing
Beard trimmings littering the ground
Mementos left for finding
Piled high for leaps and bounds
His fire left to warm the rough comings
Bit by bit shedding his soul
Sacrificing to an unrelenting earth
His heart it be not black, but a frenzied canopy of a red sire's offspring
The fire and flesh, the dying and the sleeping.
Autumn is my master.
Photography me got to have some fun too!
Thriving Moments: Letting the creative process take its good ole' sweet time. A poem and pictures.
“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”
~L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
Footnotes (who wants to knit me some socks?):
- *Matilda of course!
- **This is an original poem by ME, Maddie. Victory Dance
- Music - Liz Lawrence. You must listen to her music!