I enjoy putting words to my paintings. Yesterday, when I had finished this one, my beloved asked me, “What kind of berries are those?”
Red, I replied.
And thus…. a haiku was born.
This morning, as I sat at my desk and watched the night sky fade into reds and rose and blue, I snapped the first photo.
And another haiku was born.
I am fascinated by the haiku form — both by its endurance through so many centuries and its compactness inviting the author/reader to say something about nature and life in so few words — the form is precise – three lines with a syllable count of 5 / 7 / 5 to equal 17 syllables in total.
From the website, Poets.org — “the philosophy of haiku has been preserved: the focus on a brief moment in time; a use of provocative, colorful images; an ability to be read in one breath; and a sense of sudden enlightenment.”
It’s a great form to test and stretch your creative muscles.
The painting of the berries was an experiment with watercolours, acrylic ink, spray ink and Inktense watercolour pencils.
Solstice is upon us and with it, I feel the calling of the muse to write my way into the light.
To stretch myself, to tease my poetic senses into verse, to give my mind an opportunity to lean into the unknown, beyond those spaces where my thinking has crystallized into certainty that I have it all figured out… I have begun a practice of reading a poem a morning – and then – letting whatever that poem inspires come into being through word and image.
I am sitting outside on the deck. Early morning. The air is cool and crisp. I am wrapped up in a blanket. A shawl around my shoulders.
I feel the slight coolness of the air against the skin of my face, my fingers.
Morning sounds greet me. Two geese honking as they fly over. A chickadee chirping. The hiss of the river flowing.
I am feeling content. Satisfied. Peaceful.
I take a sip of my latte, the liquid warm as it crosses my lips, enters my mouth and flows down my throat.
A car crosses the bridge moving from west to east. Its tires hiss on the road’s surface and then it is gone.
Overhead, the sound of a jet plane breaks the quiet of the morning. In this time of Covid, the skies have been so quiet for so long now, it sounds out of place, unusual.
And then it too is gone.
Morning stillness returns.
There is no music playing softly in the background this morning. Only the poetry of nature filling the morning with its songs.
Poetry is everywhere. From the sounds of the river flowing, geese flying overhead, cars travelling across the bridge.
Poetry is everywhere.
“Go sit outside and savour the poetry of the morning,” the wisdom of my heart whispered when I first sat down at my desk to write.
The critter was having none of my heart’s desire. With a plumped up sense of importance, it jumped into the fray. “Don’t be ridiculous,” it hissed. “It’s cold out there.”
At first, I let the critter’s voice dictate my actions. He’s right, I thought. It is still a bit too chilly out there.
My heart is wise. It knows best what I need.
“It’s only ridiculous if you decide it’s ridiculous,” my heart murmured gently. “There is poetry in the morning air. Go and savour its song. Go immerse yourself in its beauty.”
The critter is not one to give up easily. “You’ll catch a cold,” it stated emphatically.
“Now that’s ridiculous,” I replied.
And I came outside.
I am sitting on the deck in the cool morning air wrapped up in a blanket. My laptop is propped up in front of me. My fingers move across the keyboard. The still cool air of morning caresses my skin.
I am surrounded by the poetry of morning.
It floats through the air, every sound plumping up each molecule into round full orbs of delight that tickle and tease my senses with their delicious, poetic nature.
The morning air sounds like it feels. Graceful, effortless, like the ducks bobbing along the river’s surface as they pass by in front of me.
I close my eyes and welcome in the poetry of morning. It sweeps through my body, cascading in wave after wave washing over me with its melodic, hypnotic invitation to get present within this moment right now.
I feel myself sinking deeply into the moment. Becoming one with all that is my world right here where I sit wrapped up in a blanket on the deck in the cool morning air.
I breathe in and out. In and out and open my eyes. The world is brighter. Lighter.
I watch a squirrel performing an arabesque in the trees. It turns its body upside down as it clings to a branch before letting go and leaping fearlessly through space, twisting itself right-side up, midair, to grab hold of the next branch. The leaves rustle melodiously as it moves through the forest canopy bursting into fullness with each passing moment.
I hear the song of more birds chirping. A single plaintiff whistle. A magpie squawking.
The poetry of morning surrounds me.
Gratitude fills my body with its song of joy. My heart breaks open with the beauty of this day awakening.
Morning has broken. Day has begun. My heart is full of the poetry of life.
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