I didn’t write on our trip to the Blue Ridge Parkway. But I did relax. And I suppose that’s worth leaving piles of laundry, scads of paperwork, and even the studio for a few days.
We managed several hikes, the last on Tuesday morning up a gorgeous rocky path that opened up to a 360 degree view of the mountains. My legs are a little sore, but no matter.
Now if I can just keep my head clear to work through some upcoming events.
Prompt from yesterday’s group: Escape
She breathes in early dawn. There’s a stillness when two people
share space. No children scamper, no dog pants or sheds. She breathes again.
Books stacked against the wicker basket haven’t moved. The clock measures
seconds until another hour reminds her to rise, move, participate in the day.
But quiet seeps under the door jam. She listens, waiting, lifting her polished toe
against the cool sheet. Voices float through the open window,
eyelids flutter and close. She writes verse, line by line, breathing words
in and out. Orange slits, burned bread, a broken branch in a torn screen.
No, she will not participate in this day.
Rolling to the right, she tucks the pale blue pillow under her cheek.
On my mind these days…
◆The studio events: readings, celebrations, sales, art, craft, creativity, wine, poetry. To subscribe to our newsletter, click here
◆Writing: working on something that might turn into something. Yeah, it’s about time.
◆Art: abstract collage, new for me
◆Bread: baking again
◆ Beginning: The artist is always beginning. Any work of art which is not a beginning, an invention, a discovery is of little worth. Ezra Pound
I don’t often write about personal things here, but I thought I’d share something that happened to my mom recently.
Last week, on a train trip to visit me, she collapsed unexpectedly. She didn’t feel ill, and she had already walked up and down the train a couple of times for exercise on the 8 hour trip. However, near the end of her trip, she said her legs gave out.
The conductor helped carry her off, my husband and I called 911, and we went straight to the ER. Many tests and several days later, we were told mom had suffered from “broken heart syndrome.” When the doctor who performed the catheterization told me, I felt a flush of emotion, my eyes watered, and my own heart hurt.
We know she has a broken heart. My dad died three years ago, and mom has grieved silently ever since.
Though she felt no pain, mom must have found the travel stressful. She’s been home resting and will stay on heart meds the rest of her life. We’re happy her situation was not more serious.
Many people find it difficult to write or speak about painful feelings, my mom included. My sister and I laugh because her favorite saying is, “I’m fine !” Strong, definitive emphasis on “fine.”
But let’s be honest. I have trouble articulating my feelings, too. So I write to make sense of the world, my world. Flushing out emotions clears the view.
Lately, I’ve been trying to refocus, change the shape of the words that spill out. But I guess I’ll let them continue to come as they may.
Perhaps it’s even healthy.
