No one ever asks me why I stand at the window, watching the night sulk in alleys and draw long shadows as the sunsets.No one.
Twiction 48
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Twiction 47
Silence stood in the door way like a dare. She stood and waited, not knowing what to do next. Her indecision would cost her dearly.
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Twiction 47
Silence stood in the door way like a dare. She stood and waited, not knowing what to do next. Her indecision would cost her dearly.
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Twiction 46
Instead, Ren sat still, listening through the window. Waiting for the call. The whisper she’d been waiting for.
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Twiction 45
Twiction 46
Instead, Ren sat still, listening through the window. Waiting for the call. The whisper she’d been waiting for.
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Twiction 45
oh – the cool night air calls
oh – the cool night air calls
as it holds the moon still in the pond
gently waving reflection
whispering the question that has no answer
sleeping blooms dressed in silver
lie silently in the garden
even the dew is cold against the skin
each step a reminder
of the warmth within
where does the face rest
when all the eyes want is to turn skyward
and drink in the light, the clear expanse of stars
until there is nothing left but to throw
the endless self into the darkness?
where does the reflection rest
when the moonlight is gone?
or the dew when the feet are just a step
in the softly crushed sweet grass?
where does the sky find the rest?
If not here in the small curve of the petal
or the sloping turn of the path
then where?
oh – the cool night air calls
calls in the song of knowing
and I, I am left with nothing else
but to follow.
~ la tyson
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pages from the secret garden
Every year for the past eight years, I have had the very good fortune to take a weekend and retreat to my dear friend June’s secret garden. Each time I find myself there, I am transported to where, I cannot say, but each moment is precious. I returned home yesterday, and thought I would share some of the pages written while in this garden. Just a little taste of what I wrote, but hopefully you will get the feel for how the garden is for me.
xo
la
Friday evening pages
Night has just fallen
The doves sleep quietly
In the trees
Love in your embrace
~
Saturday morning pages
Where the water dances
With the fountain,
Falling over itself
To reach the rim of existing
Only to plunge into the deep pool below
We sit together
Embraced by trees and trailing vine
Held still by cicada song
Waiting for the next breath
~
Sunday morning pages
In the secret garden here, there’s a chance, sometimes to meet unexpected people, lone raindrops and fairies sitting serenely around bends in the garden path. A dove shooed me out of bed this morning. I tried to ignore but her coos would grow louder the longer I languished in my bed. I sat with her earlier, while steam rose up from my tea, and she told me secrets. The cardinal arrived to sit above me after the dove moved on to fill her belly. She has been flying continuously the entire length of the garden to eat at the feeder. She is tireless and always full of conversation as she passes between nibbles. Her mate comes rarely. It is just us girls here so far.
One fat raindrop fell onto my book this morning with a loud splat. It fell in the center of the page and spread out with little legs gripping the page. I had asked moments before, what should I write about this morning? It seems that this raindrop and its surprise entrance is the answer.
I think the rain will soon fall on me. I felt the shift just now, the air is heavier. Oh! Another drop fell and this one startled me. It fell with a loud thump, like the wack of a zen stick. Pay attention now. The corner of the book is soaked now by this one lone drop. Imagine if thousands suddenly fell…
~
morning displays the garden
dressed in tiny drops of rain
bright blossoms
wearing silver jewels
fern leaves bow in passing
walking along the garden path
delicate steps among the ivy and trailing vine
while the cardinals and sparrows sing
~
Love,
clouds gather
and the sky darkens to a rumble
shaking the house
I am waiting for her arrival
Inspiration,
Distraction
Instead, I’m met by Silence
Who holds a mirror
To my heart
For the sky to reflect
In the smaller spaces
I am writing
In cracks between
The stones along the path
Waiting now
For the storms to pass
~
Monday morning pages
Gabrielle and Samantha have named the cardinal Delilah. Every time we are in the garden, Delilah flies to greet us. Finally she brought her mate, having reassured him that we would do no harm. A red squirrel interrupted briefly by helping herself to the peanuts that we left. She chattered greetings as she darted away through the phlox and butterfly bush.
I did not sleep last night. The night was filled with fierce storms. I waited for the dove to wake me but I think she sensed I already was. In a nap earlier, a dream left me wondering. I have no words for what gift the dream gave me. Maybe they will come as they day unfolds itself.
~
Hibiscus bloom falls
Down among the river stones
Coral against grey
~
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10 reasons why I write
This afternoon, someone posted a very interesting list on the Diving Deeper workshop board: “10 reasons why I write”. I have no idea where the list emerged from, and it doesn’t matter. The concept of the list made me think about the reasons why I write. I don’t know that I have ever outright questions why I write, let alone made a list. I wasn’t sure that I could come up with just 10 but I did….
10 reasons why I write:
because…
1. I must. If you have never been woken up at 3 am by a poem or story demanding to be written, it might be hard to understand. I have. I know better than to ignore.
2. I want to remember.
3. The monkeys are busy.
4. Idle hands…
5. I can’t juggle
6. One day maybe I won’t have a story to tell. I write now because I do.
7. Writing is like throwing a stone into a still pond, and I never know where the ripples will touch.
8. I am in love with how a brand new notebook feels in my hands
9. I have no wings – writing is as close to flying as I can get
10. …..sometimes all there is left to do is just write.
~
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emotional fractals – alone
Shh… you are being too loud Alone. Sitting there, hiding in the corner, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be loved, waiting to be welcomed. I know you can see me across the room. I am the one laughing, surrounded by the longer, more sour faces. I am waiting too. I am waiting for you. I am going to keep poking you will my funny stick – to show you that you are not as alone as you think you are. It only feels that way because Scared and Chagrined have corned you, built a kind of wall that keeps you from seeing me. I am jumping like an excited little puppy, up and down, up and down, up and down – my ears are flying and I know you can just see my smiling face over the top.
Come on sweetie, lets go. I want to guerrilla knit a furry pink sweater for a giant elephant. I want to run with you through the sand into the ice cold blue water of the lake. I want to lie in the tall grasses in the field with you and laugh at the Zombie tree.
What do you say? Don’t be vexed. Be silly, like me. Be Inspired. I know that we can go far together, you and I. Let’s go!
~
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A complicated kindness
new assignment – write the first paragraph of a novel. 20 minutes of writing whatever comes up.
~
Neva rushed to catch the door of the apartment building before it swung shut and left her locked out in the street. She shivered as she shook off the slush and snow that had piled quickly onto her shoulders and hair. It was a two minute walk from the subway, but the winter was fierce this year. It was snowing furiously outside, and she was glad to not be out in it any longer. She bent down to adjust her knee-high leather boots and turned her head to look down the hallway to the elevator. The band of golden light was moving to a thin sliver.
“Shit” Neva said out loud. “Hold the door!” She called out and hurried down the tiled marble floor. Her heel s clacked and clicked, echoing against the bare walls. The elevator door continued to close, uninterrupted until the last possible moment, when a gloved hand suddenly shot out to keep it from closing completely. The door relented and slid back open with barely a whisper of protest. Neva rushed in, consumed by the gold interior light.
“Thanks” she said. She was breathless, and leaned back against the wall. Snowflakes melted against her skin. Neva touched her face absently. She glanced out into the empty hallway before the elevator door closed and then turned to see who it was that held the door for her. Her flirty smile froze on her lips, and the colour drained from her cheeks. The last thing she saw was the flash of white light, then the elevator was plunged into darkness.
~
lei fraser 