Trees Are Blushing "No"
That's the word Linda left out.
She made a pool, a stack, a pile. She fished, sorted, pulled, picked. And pokey got left behind (Are we surprised? Pokey is always fifty steps back, where we're likely to forget about it.)
When I saw the poem Linda made, without pokey, I commented that it would have been quite a different piece if she'd used that word.
It's a wonder, isn't it, how words have personalities?
This week, caught on the parkway, I sat thinking about the word hibernate. After all, winter is coming; trees are blushing "no" and weeping, but winter is coming. The word hibernate is one way to think about the nature of this change...
It is not
a killing word,
a tender deep
down to sleep
word, a nestle
Photo: Towering Pines at rehab center (yes, we've been spending many hours visiting Grandma since her knee surgery); photo by L.L. Barkat.
HighCallingBlogs Parking-Lot Poetry
Prairie Chick’s Just Breathe
Linda’s A Stroll
Glynn’s Slowing at the Faulkner Bookhouse
Monica’s Calligraphy Slows
Sarah’s The Dawn
Bina’s Celebration of Slowing
Maureen’s Not a Rush
Marcus's The Price of Renewal