You know what
I love about Sundays? Tranquility. I especially love the tranquility when Mother
Nature agrees to be kind and in the spirit of the day. Living in the countryside I find that Sundays
are usually quiet although even as I write there is a rush of vehicles at my
corner. But that is unusual for a Sunday
as most often the farmers around here are sleeping in until noon or even
later.
It’s February but the sun is shining
softly, the snow from yesterday is already gone, there is the merest wisp of a
breeze and the tiny birds are back and looking for the seeds in the bird
feeder. Spring is in the air, Balzac
Billy hit it right this year, an early spring.
Daylight is back, the days stretch longer and longer, and potential
starts to whisper in my ear. I ignore
the stacks of stuff that belong in the still being renovated room and pull out
notebooks, texts, pencils and pens and settle down to await the muse. I close my eyes and go into Haiku mode which
I find is a simple way to begin the writing process. I ignore the poor quality, this is simply how
I like to start because yes, I am seeking that boundless potential, but in a
soft way.
There are different ways to approach
things and I freely confess I am often a weekend warrior where I pull out all
the stops. I put on hiking boots, I put
on down vest, ear slings, working gloves and then I pull out the tools and go for
it in the garden. Sometimes I hack down
trees, I haul dead branches, I rake pile upon pile of leaves and finally I will
take the mower and go for it, bushwhacker mode.
I can be a ninja and pull out my sketch books or canvas and start
putting lines down. I can settle down in
the office and start forming words on the computer. Yes, I can go for it with gusto, no doubt
about that.
But it’s February, it’s on the cusp of
spring, it’s a tranquil Sunday morning and I feel the muse that leads me to
close my eyes and imagine poetry.
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