New Month--
Welcome November. Welcome wet leaves sticking to my shoes. Welcome hoods and gortex, boots and umbrellas left at home. Welcome the remaining the leaves, we've saved a place for you on the wet wet soil.
Spooky Little Girl Like You--
Halloween was incredible this year-- an clear icy black night covered in stars, a black cat Halloween cake, bags of candy tossed on the kitchen table, a boy dressed as autumn, a pizza party, fresh tortilla chips with green chili salsa, shadows of trick or treaters moving in and out of the streets, three boys, three costumes, and a grocery cart flying past us down the street.
The only thing that bothers me about Halloween where I live is the pampass grass. Since we live by the water, its expected in this seaside community, but it looks to beachy in my autumn world of yellow and orange leaves. But I could hear the waves as I trick or treated, could see the ferry going back and forth. I kicked my feet through streets of maple leaves, alder leaves, and listened to the rattle of pampass grass, tried to imagine something spooky in the pampass grass, but no, pampass grass is just not spooky.
Writing Life Returns--
So now with the end of my favorite holiday, I return back to my poetry and writing. My critical paper still haunts me though, making Halloween last a little longer. And my unwritten poems are the ghosts that sleep in my office.
I find if I don't write every day when I start a poem, I feel a breeze in the hallway...emptiness. But when I write daily, the poems are gathered around my desk waiting to begin. Someone said writing has to do with training like an athlete, and each day you need to train your mind towards creativity. If you don't, you become stiff, you've lost your swing when you finally do sit down and write.
I believe that and yet I know, sometimes the best thing for writing is not writing. To make yourself not write for a week until you feel as if you're going to burst because you just want to sit down and write a poem. I don't think there's a right/write way to be a writer, but for me, my work is stronger if I write each day. Each poem moves me to a different place and maybe I clear away the junk, opening up the window each morning and having a look outside. What do I see? What do I want to remember?
