Early Morning

Last night the rains pummelled the roof. It reminded me of Ireland and the windy rain I often heard at night. Windows were open and the air smelled like autumn leaves. This morning I walked amid the fallen leaves, pulled prematurely from maple and oak by the rain. The light was phenomenal and only my camera can convey just how beautiful it was.

There is a winding set of stairs leading to my hilltop home. In the morning light, it seemed to stretch endlessly toward something it would never quite reach. Sometimes I feel that way when I am writing--as if I can visualize what I'm after but it is so hard to express with the limitation of language. Nevertheless, every once in a while I convey the nuance of light and seven shades of green so effortlessly displayed in front of me this morning.

Poetry, Observation, Light

I read an excerpt from James Wright to second graders today. Metaphor comes easier to young children than it does to teenagers and young adults. We learn to be concrete--just the facts. I asked them to describe what they saw on their bus ride--the leaves turning, falling, light across the road, animals. It was a joy to see their excitement about poetry. How do we lose that? I remember hating the line-by-line analysis that is so much a part of the study of poetry in high school. I like approaching a poem like I approach a painting or a piece of music--I just take it in, think about it, hang out with it for a while. If it touches me, I invite it back into my life again and again.

On my morning walk, the air was tangy and cool. I miss the wind and salt-sprayed air of Ireland. I do love the light here though--especially when it is filtering through trees just beginning to burst into color. Autumn is a time of gathering in--putting away sandals and tank tops and taking out sweaters and warm socks. I am making preparations to go into the darker space of winter.

Looking Out

Everything is changing. From startlingly cool nights, we're back to summer's moderation. Last night I heard rumbles of thunder. In my poetry class, my students picked an inanimate object and transformed it into something else--from nails to memories, their poems were original and playful. Outside there is a metamorphosis in progress. From green to the wild jewels of autumn, I witness; we all witness.

Last weekend we went to a wedding in Vermont--friends of our children. Behind the bride and groom, the green mountains just beginning to invite color. There was music, all manner of dress, frivolity and cupcakes. Last night an old friend called to share that she is blissfully in love. So change continues to wield power and love moves forward with a purposeful stride, in any weather.

Change is a way we remain fluid and creative. Our fear is the same fear we have climbing to the top of the peak where the best view awaits. We arrive winded and disheveled, heart pounding; perhaps we are thirsty and out of supplies. When we look at the stunning expanse around us, we are glad for eyes and breath and stamina.

Go outside. As Maude says in that wonderful film "Harold and Maude"--"Go out and love some more." Not just people--trees, shy animals, mushrooms (that one is for Kira), waning wildflowers, receding tides, colors, and your own possibilities.

Ups and Downs

I remember honoring the light and weather in Ireland and so I took my class outside on this most perfect of September afternoons. It didn't please everyone and there were distractions like sirens and cars whooshing by. We read Langston Hughes and Tony Hoagland under a spreading maple tree with leaves of polished green. Fall has not yet arrived. Soon it will be dark out in the late afternoon and the ground will be bare and hard. I won't take them outside again; I will have to bring the outside into the classroom, hum of the air conditioner and stiff wooden desks. Learning can happen anywhere. Distraction can happen anywhere. I remember looking out windows when I was in undergraduate college classes. Probably I could tell you everything I saw from the high window of the English building. In my graduate program, we held class in a fireplaced living room or a stone porch or outside on the lawn. Once we were even in a garage with hints of old gasoline and oil smudges on the floor. By then I had learned to listen. The words carried me away from the physical space so I was quite literally inside the images of the poem. I know I can't expect that to happen for everyone in an introductory undergraduate class. I keep trying to find an analogy they can relate to--how the movie theater falls away when you are immersed in a film. The truth is: I don't have the answers. I'm just a poet who teaches, hoping that beyond learning craft and reading good poetry, some of the magic will happen for a few of them. I know that poetry saved my life many times. We all need a lifeline from time to time. Unlikely as it may seem, words can serve that purpose--and they ask nothing in return.

Screech Owl

A screech owl's cry permeated the early evening two days ago. It was otherworldly; the cry of a predator and a living being. Yesterday during my early morning walk, I saw a fawn prancing in a field, two snakes by the side of the road and a red-tailed fox on a grassy mound. I'm wondering what meaning there is in all of this. So much of my life is spent going here, doing this. All around me, animals hunt, run, propagate.

The choices that comprise a life are complicated. We choose professions or they choose us. We choose partners or they choose us. There's a certain amount of unconsciousness that follows as we continue with our choices as if they never again need to be reflected upon or changed. Two people I know recently left long marriages for the promise of something else. A close friend is traveling to try to find his lost daughter--now a young woman he doesn't know. Hope is like breathing.

In Ireland, there was time to notice the changing light. I liked the wildness of the weather. The sea has always spoken to me, invited me to inhale deeply. It will take time to understand all these messages--the owl, the fox, the choices. I do believe that writing brings me closer to the truth.

Remembering/Time

It's easy to become caught up in life and forget to look around. My morning walks have been an essential exercise in observation. The way the light filters through the thick foliage and the glint of sunlight on the river are there each day.

I'm back to teaching and my classes are huge. I want to imbue my students with an excitement about the natural world, with dynamic lessons that will make them want to write. It isn't easy to remain centered when I'm running here and there. In Ireland, it was easy to have the time to write and to notice how light is different in the morning than it is at dusk. I remember the call of birds and the rabbits scooting across the field. The weather has been spectacular and last night there was a full moon. All of these things matter. In slowing down and really seeing, I will continue to absorb what I learned about myself, what really matters.