Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake. -Wallace Stevens
A mirror of the sky above, the green of trees, and the soul inside. Walking by, it’s impossible to miss a sense of wisdom, the feeling of an old friend.
Waves soothe and invite a long talk. Toss a pebble and watch the ripples find their way to the shore. In the ridges, the answers flow. For there’s nothing else to do but contemplate as the rings grow wider and wider, until they fade to glass.
Guardian trees give shade to those who feel burned by the outside world. Rustling leaves whisper lullabies and offer a gentle embrace. Life is new, fragile and green. A reminder that starting over is something sacred.
Stone talismans wash ashore, a gift to be chosen and treasured. Bathed in blue and shaped in sand, tangible proof of a walk around the lake.
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A smooth road just isn’t my style. Steps are too silent, too easy, there’s no mystery. Blacktop streets are made for more than just one traveler. They are meant for followers, for those who like a solid ending. No harm in that. There’s something to be said for a clean path that leads to a known place.
I like the sound of gravel beneath my feet. The crunch and grit remind me to feel the earth and know my place. My steps are small, but full of wonder. When stones bounce off my toes, I watch them roll and skip across the ground. Did fate choose their resting place or did chance?
Blurred edges blend the dirt road and wild borders. It’s easy to wander in the shade of leaves or challenge the blocks put forth by trees. It’s just me with the wind and my pulse running wild.
My dirt road is not aimless, for it always leads somewhere. Whether a dead end or a side street to well-trod tar, the gravel must end, too. Regardless of the twists and turns, it follows me wherever I go – a standing invitation for when life gets too quiet.
A dirt path near Minocqua, Wisconsin
Photo by: c.b.w. 2013
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Still going strong in the Writer’s Digest 2013 November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge. We’ll see if I still feel that way next week! So far, my muse hasn’t let me down. Although, she is picking strange places to strike me with inspiration. I wrote the poem for November 4 while walking home from work – that notepad app came in pretty handy!
November 4, 2013
Prompt: Take the phrase “(blank) Sheet,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write the poem
November 5, 2013
Prompt: “Two for Tuesday” 1. Write a concealed poem, (cover something up) 2. Write an unconcealed poem, (uncover everything from the first poem)
November 6, 2013
Prompt: Write a poem from the perspective of a person who either works at and/or visits a place you like to visit (that’s not yourself).
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For some, I’m sure the sight of rain clouds on the horizon brings on a case of the doldrums, but for those of us in the desert rain clouds are a source of joy. After months of no rain and searing temperatures, a thunderstorm gives us all a tall drink of water.
Earlier this week, a big rain cloud rolled over the mountains across the street from my house. Like most desert dwellers, I got really excited to see one so close and low to the ground. Most of the time there are no clouds in the sky and when we do see them they are usually so high the rain evaporates before it hits the ground (thanks to 100+ degree heat).
I sat on my porch swing and watched the dark and swollen gray clouds moved closer and closer to my house. Soon lightening filled the sky and thunder echoed off the mountain. I knew rain was on its way and I couldn’t wait for the smell of wet pavement and creosote.
I snapped these pictures just before it began to rain.
Monsoon, Photos by: c.b.w. 2013
It rained for more than an hour that day, which in itself was another little miracle. Usually, we get fifteen to twenty minutes tops. I’m sure my garden loved getting rain from above instead of from the hose!
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What’s your favorite thing this week?
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Lilacs in bloom, Northern Wisconsin
Photo and words by: c.b.w. 2013
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