Weather's getting warmer here. The Hindmarsh River will soon not get to reach the sea as drier, hotter weather and irrigation take their toll. In the last few weeks the mouth of the river has moved quite dramatically, first to the left, then to the right. Those serpentine curls I so love.The pelican's moved on. Nothing stays the same. Reminds me how much of my life I've lived in rigid ways, the should's, the critic's rarely silent voice (s), the 'doing being' rather than being.
The beginnings of a poem
She waves her turquoise hand
an inflection with the breeze.
Near the Hindmarsh River estuary close by at Victor Harbor there are beautiful resilient swamp paperbark trees. A boardwalk and trail lead around them; in winter the surface of the water in the small lagoon next to the trail flirts with the trees' reflections on those still days that have one stop, enchanted. This blog is to follow the trail wherever that may be lead across the world of enchantment and earth rapture.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Door Days
Creative Writing Ink - Writing Prompt: September 27th
The old door, half ajar, a darkened space you love
to photograph, have to! Number twenty seven, a few short steps
from the corner, the spidery cracked cement of the old town
you'd seen in a dream when you were younger
here right now so that you must stop shake your head
knock gentle on the door peer in
hesitate on the step the place in-between
excited uncertain push the door more
breathe in the smell of books, damp, paper yellowing with age
tobacco smoke, look at the old man paintings
on walls that seem to seem to stoop
just as you raised your camera
That sudden flash, tears quicker than thought.
The old door, half ajar, a darkened space you love
to photograph, have to! Number twenty seven, a few short steps
from the corner, the spidery cracked cement of the old town
you'd seen in a dream when you were younger
here right now so that you must stop shake your head
knock gentle on the door peer in
hesitate on the step the place in-between
excited uncertain push the door more
breathe in the smell of books, damp, paper yellowing with age
tobacco smoke, look at the old man paintings
on walls that seem to seem to stoop
just as you raised your camera
That sudden flash, tears quicker than thought.
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