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21.5.800–Jonathon Johnson Finds Me Again

Jonathon Johnson (and a poetic voice) Finds Me Again

(rough draft)

Today is the kind of day that I walk around with two pairs of glasses on my head and a stack of poetry books. I sit on the swing next to the pond you built camera balanced on my lap waiting for oriole or wax-wing, reading aloud Jonathon Johnson.

I get the call you are late, dealing with a mess. It’s a good thing for I almost forgot the pot of brown rice cooking, now dry, almost burring on the stove.

An ant bites my foot and it still stings, but the phone is on the hook, and I brought in the stack of library books I’ll likely have little time to read.

I am trying to grasp on to the summers of my youth. Where sand in my hair meant I laid on the tall dunes baking in the sun. Reading. Napping.  A nature child with words in her head and on the tip of her tongue.

The rice is off, placed on the back burner. Dark clouds threaten dreams of watching sunset on Solstice.

Dreams of curry chicken on hold as I sit again pond-side reciting for the gold finch, reading to the air, feet tucked under me in a camp chair.

I might even be happy that you are late as lines form to poems in my head.

Word Count: 226


Free Write Fling, Day One–5.1.2009

Hi all–over the next month I will be taking part in a Free Write Fling facilitated by Cynthia Morris of Original Impulse and Journey JuJu (be sure to check-out her blogs). I have committed to writing 31-days straight, dedicating at least 15-minutes a day. This may mean less photos and more writing. Or it will mean more and more of everything! I like the sound of that.

Sometimes I will share a freewrite with you. A free write is something written on a roll, no logic, no grammatical edits. You butt your inner-editor out of the door of the studio–SCRAM! I say .

Sometimes I will share from work that I am taking more serious. Essay. Memoir. Poetry.

Sometimes I will use a photo to jump-off into writing and free my muse.

Free Write Fling (frreewrite)

I live in a world of kiwi and honey. I love my kitchen. I love the graininess of it all. Jars line up with 4 kinds of rice. We have steel-cut oats. Grapes are divided up in one-cup portable portions. I stir-fry up the weeks chicken for flaxy grainy wraps with black beans, red pepper, cukes and more. My peanut butter is organic, and I can dip an apple or carrot at a whim.

Some kitchens seem foreign to me. There are boxes of products with instructions. Snacks come in crinkly plastic and have empty calories. I cannot find the whole-food experience. The slow food experience. A whole grain must be something the mouse took away.

I live in a world of daffodils, shaggy, bright yellow, popping out of thyme clumps. The tulips soon to follow. Tiny lilac leaves promise a new spring. I live in a world of bird feeders and song. I live in a world of creative pursuit. Have camera will click sometimes in concert with my Magic Man.

I live up the hill from greatness, blue, blue Superior. Sunrises. Sails that dance every Wednesday evening like a flock of birds resting on water they speckle the harbor. Bike path community, walkers and runners, strollers and bikes. Fit city. Hopeful city. Destination city.

Sometimes places seem foreign to me with nowhere to turn, to run, to bike. Backyards closed and forgotten. No potted cheerfulness. No song of children.

I want to build a healthy city, where people smile and nod their heads. I want to help people cross the street from survival mode to prosperity and health. I want people to love their life. Proclaim their joy!

I want to share healing. A chant of Ohm. A grace of clam. A hearth of home.

Like the apple there is a seed within and it is looking for soil, loamy and rich. To uncurl. To root. To grow red fruit and feed my neighbor.

How to Live Strong and Create

From Colorado to Lisbon, Portugal, that is the “Creative Leap” Cynthia Morris took in her life, and the adventure’s she is living! Wow! I am inspired every time I read her new blog. Recently Cynthia went rock climbing on the limestone cliffs, and she writes of the experience at

Cynthia’s boyfriend João shares what he gets out of climbing, “the way climbing teaches you how to live strongly and creatively in life….” I just had to comment and let her know it sounded like a writing prompt. You see, Cynthia is also a writer coach with another blog and great newsletter at Original Impulse.

Our lives give us prompts to create all the time, the trick is to remain open and receptive like João and Cynthia. For João climbing brings him to peace while also keeping him engage to the environs he is climbing. Cynthia says her years of yoga have brought her the same gift of focus and strength.

Being in tune with your body, building strength and focus, and understanding yourself allows expression with confidence and youthful sense of discovery. It brings that sense of presence to your art.

Last night while walking around Founder’s Landing I was absorbed by the scent of white roses in bloom. I caressed the soft petals and like a guilty child picked the blossom and tucked it carefully in my jeans pocket. I had a secret. I bouldered over Gaines’ Rock to the laughing sounds of the creek meeting Lake Superior then jumped over the expanse without getting wet feet. I paused as a woman set-up a shot of the twin smoke stacks of the Shiras Steam plant. The coal and limestone piles throw entrancing shadows in the fading light. It is a digital capture I, too, have taken. A three legged golden retriever walked by on a leash with his humans, wet from a swim. Rollerblades hummed past. And as the sun set I headed up the Bothwell hill, home. I cherish these walks. The sauntering allows process, and the writing floats up. Topics I never expect. I become engaged and awake.

I had a gift in my jeans pocket and I pulled the now pressed blossom from my pocket, the bugs scattered over the coffee table. I smiled a young girl smile, only slightly itchy and disturbed by bugs. I thought of the many treasures of my walk, snapshots of time I need to share.

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