Stenciled birds flying, sketched out in spray paint, the day plays out and here I am trying to find something to say.
I’ve been absent on this page, letting life play out instead of feathering its edges with rhyme. This writer put down the pen and became the words.
Isn’t that what Rumi would say, go out in to the noisy street and be the noise! I find myself caught up in the triplets of my own rhythm, practicing the one lesson I’ve yet to master…let go and be…the noise.
Then there is this page. I’ve often thought if I came back to it, what would I write? Summer transpired to teach me that time always has her way and we can never stay when the seasons move us. And here I am sitting on the edge of summer, autumn’s horizon lapping at my ankles, and I am choosing to linger in her final moments of reprieve. I’m not ready to shed words for a season not quite done. There is something more she needs to teach me.
Stenciled birds flying, sketched out in spray paint, the day plays out and here I am trying to find something to say. I’ve been absent on this page, letting life play out instead of feathering its edges with rhyme. This writer put down the pen and became the words.
I love that you are loving your summer. Enjoy every ounce of it my friend.
ReplyDeleteHope she's still handing out those lessons and that they are good ones. I like "autumns horizon lapping at my ankles." Reminds me of how I sat on the beach last night watching the warm sun set and the cool dark of soon-to-be autumn rise.
ReplyDeleteSomething soothing about wandering back in time and finding myself here and there. So many times through the same season and dipping into the same places.
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