Inspiration

Next week is the spring Poetry Palooza at the Venus and I signed up for the 7pm slot.  I figured, if I didn’t have anything new by then, I could plead busy-ness and sit that one out.  I actually wouldn’t have minded sitting it out – I’m getting more comfortable in front of crowds (more than two people) but its not something I relish.

Yesterday our evening class was cancelled, so I was home by 4:30 and did school work til the light began to dim.  I looked up, it was about 7:15 and outside, the clouds had parted, the sun was filtering in from the west, and I decided to head over to the trail for a stroll.  Clear out my head – think about my presentation on the ethics of multi/intercultural communication – enjoy some fresh air and vistas that were further away than my computer screen.

On my way back up the hill, I remembered the full moon.  Over the summer, I had developed the habit of walking out to ‘my sitting rocks’ and watching the moon rise over the East Ridge.  The sun had set behind me, but as I gazed over the Ridge there was no sign of the moon.  Hidden, I figured, by the misty, icy clouds that hovered just behind those mountains.  The light fled quickly, and my steps slowed to allow me the time and space to drink in the fullness of twilight.  As I walked, the poems I needed for next week came to me … some in full, some in images, some in small handfuls of words that I could work with later on.

How wonderful to come home and tease out three of the poems.  I had forgotten the fourth til last night when I woke to the incessant barking of the neighbor’s dog at 3am.  I hovered on the edge between wakefulness and sleep and could only think in verse.  This morning I woke to write the fourth poem.

I’ll fiddle with the words, the lines, the rhythms until next week.  I’ve asked my friend, Dory, if he’ll play his native american flute in the background as I read.  It will come together as a complete experience – and then – it will be gone.  The words and the memory will remain, and my gratitude for the inspiration of a small songbird, shadowed on the branches of the leafless aspen.