I haven't been writing much for my personal blog lately - mostly because I've been spending 8 hours a day reading and writing as a participant in the Upstate Writing Project.
So far I've written lots and lots of poems, started a mystery, drafted a professional piece (crossing my fingers to get chosen to submit for publication!), called my Nana to get stories from her life for a narrative poetry book (a la Out of the Dust - but happier), outlined a trickster tale, and collected snippets for about 186 ideas for various stories.
I am a writing fool.
Okay, mostly a fool.
Last Friday we went on a field trip to Flat Rock, North Carolina to visit Connemara - Carl Sandburg's Estate. Everyone else was writing poems about leaves and flowers and trees.
Being the stubborn individual I am, I was determined to find inspiration in a different place.
Here's what I came up with:
The carpet showcase of the forest floor
Where seeds snuggle into squares
Of burnt sienna berber
And sandy plush pile
Cushions the hooves of baby deer
Taking their first fumbling steps.
Leaves don’t mind falling headfirst
Into this cozy cinnamon carpet
A lovely place to nap
In the dappled rays of the autumn sun.
Tufts of tawny espresso give energy to
The swiping paw of the black bear,
The swishing tail of the rust red fox,
The busy bustlings of red ant architects.
Finer than any Persian rug
Is the mahogany topsoil that comforts a fallen oak
Providing a peaceful place
For proud old limbs to be put to rest.
Dark black loam cradles
Blushing pink earthworms
That weave a complex pattern
From decaying ground,
Transforming old life into new.