Saturday, June 25, 2016

frog pond, not peony

The palest of pinks 
with deep green leaves or a tabby cat.
Mountain laurel. Tabby cat. Paoneia.

Words. I used to love words, to write. 

I wrote poetry, novels, essays,
a few published, most not, but I kept writing,
because it was my way of understanding the world, and myself.

In the last few years I've lost that.
Maybe because I'm painting.
Maybe because I turned to blogging and now Instagram
which I love, but few words are required.
I still read constantly, but writing? 
Creative or otherwise doesn't have a place in my life.

It's sort of amusing that I'm thinking of returning to regular blogging to get back into writing. It's like I've forgotten how to write privately. I used to be obsessed. I worked as a lawyer in the family courts, cared for my three children, and wrote into the wee hours. Just me, pen and notebook, or later, computer. Word processor--who remembers that pair of words? Anyway, life... (that's an Instagram poem.) The thing is, I have one more tangle I really need to figure out, and the only way I think I can do it is by writing.

What I need to write about is a complex personal ecosystem. It's a frog pond, not a peony. It's a lot of dark and murky with some wildflowers and frogs and dragonflies mixed in. (Metaphors! Similes!) I'm thinking of blogging as my sketchbook. To be continued...

Monday, June 6, 2016

Pink Hills and Wildflowers

 New Mexico---I spent most of my time in the countryside, taking in the mysterious landscapes--red hills, pink hills, black hills, mountains and mesas, buttes and canyons. This most memorable place, Tent Rocks, a short steep hike up a slot canyon, was otherworldly. Truly, as though I stepped onto another planet or a Star Wars movie. The trip was a cliche--me following the Georgia O'Keeffe trail, but it was also a trip of epiphanies and learning. Geology, Pueblo Indians, the atomic bomb, there was much to think about.

 Then home, where I try to hold on to what I learned, 
and not let it all slip away,

 It's wildflower season in the Catskills.
 I savor the familiar landscape, the creek, the frog pond, 
the crisp starry nights.
I walk downstream, among the ferns.

I hope you are enjoying the season, whatever it is,
wherever you are.

xo, Jennifer