Chiaroscuro Canvas

My love for words started when I was in sixth grade. I can still visualize that tan sand and blue ocean aesthetic notebook with white birds flying across the cover. Creative Writing. This was a new subject for the students in Miss Minniear’s sixth grade class. She instilled the idea of pursuing excellence in all the subjects she taught, but within the area of English in particular…I felt like a sponge. Literature, grammar, poetry, creativity, storytelling, prepositions, alliteration, rhyme, book reports, diagramming sentences…I soaked it all in. After being introduced to the world of creative writing, life seemed to have more meaning and aliveness. Miss Minniear had a tremendous impact on me, and I’ll be forever grateful for her investment in her students and our studies.

I remember our whole class memorizing James Whitcomb Riley’s poem, “When the Frost is on the Punkin,” and collectively dragging out “the rooster’s haaaaaaaallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence” each time we recited it together. I remember the vivid imagery I experienced while reading Carl Sandburg’s very short poem, “Fog.” I even had a short poem of my own published through a writing contest that year, which was a pretty big deal for that twelve-year-old. Those initial feelings of discovery in the power of expression lit a fire within me that has never gone out. I Thoreau-ly enjoyed writing poetry in junior high and high school. I’m also forever grateful for the encouragement from my English teachers in high school and college who helped me develop my voice and told me to keep writing. I still find inspiration in those classic works of literature, especially The Great Gatsby. The color symbolism lit up my internal world, and it’s still my favorite story! While most of what I’ve written since school has been in story or blog format, I have recently felt inspired to dive back into poetry…

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Intersections

When the day becomes the night and the sky becomes the sea, when the clock strikes heavy and there’s no time for tea; and in our darkest hour, before my final rhyme, she will come back home to Wonderland and turn back the hands of time. ~ The Cheshire Cat

(BANG!) It was like a rollercoaster ride through a color run that came to an abrupt stop. No lights. No warning signs. Just a loud confusing sound of static and other engines passing by. Three minutes prior to this scene, I had been walking outside before setting sail down the Green River. I looked up high and noticed the Cheshire Cat with a silly smile on his half-hidden face in the night sky. Was that a glimmer in his eye or a wink? What was he trying to tell me? Go this way or go that way? Oh what to do, what to do…

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Terpsichorean Motion

“This is your time, this is your dance; live every moment, leave nothing to chance. Swim in the sea, drink of the deep; embrace the mystery of all you can be.” ~ Michael W. Smith

An idea has been oscillating in my head as of late. Of movement, nature, and time as one divine thing. Ticking clocks, the sound of Irish pipes, love songs, and a sky filled with stars. And a coming of age and innocence. Some thinkers perceive the ancient Greek goddess/muse of dance as a metaphor for the cosmic dance to which the entire universe moves. Terpsichore. “Delight in dancing” is what her name means. Yes, she’s a myth, but imagine: a powerful, radiant woman personified as the passion and rhythm of this universe. A force of orderliness that can’t be escaped. That is a beat to which I can sync.

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Let’s Make Neverland a Possibility, Part 2

My previous blog referring to Neverland has been on my mind as I recently celebrated my 30th birthday.  I have been dreading leaving my twenties.  I love birthdays, but detest aging.  Most people have been telling me, “You still look so young.  What’s the big deal?”  Hello, TIME is a big deal!  Thirty years sounds like quite a long time, but it went by way too quickly.  I can only imagine that thirty more years will seem to slip away even faster.  “I suppose it’s like the ticking crocodile, isn’t it?  Time is chasing after all of us.”  Many days I wish I could be Wendy…with just a little golden pixie dust from Peter Pan, I could fly away to Neverland and make the choice to not grow up. Continue reading “Let’s Make Neverland a Possibility, Part 2”