Morning. Hello, you’ve brought sunshine, chirping birds, and rush hour traffic zooming by. And today you’ve brought a whole new month, fresh, sparkling, new with whole clear days to be seized, filled, or left empty.
Let me speak to empty. Space. No schedule. Puddling around. Lazy. Why would I say lazy? Something in me, inherent in my culture? Perhaps some unconscious troll lurking under my bridge of consciousness. I digress. Let me return to the stack of new days in the month. It feels almost like New Years. I could make a list of resolutions: more picnics, concerts, laughs. Do I remember how to laugh? A stretch into silliness … with crayons and happiness.
I become exuberant as I write. Choices flooding my in-thought … what I could do on this gaggle of days. Maybe a whole month to steer on, like an ocean with white-sailed boat. Fly over deep blue water. A universe of newness.
I am filled with the power of choice and I rejoice, taking pen and calendar, admiring the system called time and days. I start to pen in, one day, the next, till there is so much black ink I forget about my blue-ocean-sail-boat with sails brought to life with my breath, my imaginings for a whole universe of possibility. Maybe next month I’ll remember my list.
My friend Anita who is visiting NS posted a photo of her son, Finn, at the exhibition looking at oxen. It reminding me of an old poem.
smell of manure and sweat
heat and flies hover like a cloud
master nods: gee-ha
eyes steady, straight
in unison they push forward
muscles tight against the ropes
then the power is set free
1,000 pound weights
move an inch, two
I sit with words as weights
listening for the gee – ha
with the effort of a prize team
I put the first word down
one at a time
I write this poem