I’m not sure I’ve ever written anything beginning with those words, but there’s something about them that sparks the imagination, quickens the pulse. Some images do this for me, too, . . .
. . . especially those of gates, doors, alleys, but also moments captured that seem to resonate beyond the present. David and I stopped by this place in August 2014 before heading back to France. Look closely at the bottom left. I remember seeing these children . . .
. . . walking in front of this gorgeous old place, all dressed in grown-up formal wear, and feeling for a second as if I had been transported into a Jane Austen novel or maybe one of Edith Nesbit’s. And although I can no longer remember the name of this place, I’ve never forgotten that moment.
And what about this . . .
Something about it makes me wonder who may have sat here. Monet and friends? And what were they eating, drinking, talking about?
I’m thinking about writing and imagination a lot these days, because I’m in a new poetry class where we’re being challenged to access the imagination in various fascinating and productive ways. But also because I’ve finally finished the first draft of the memoir of my life with my beloved David.
All but the epilogue, that is. I want to read through the whole thing (editing madly, of course) before I decide how I’d like it to end.
It occurs to me that I may never have mentioned that I did have two poems accepted for publication in the Northern Colorado Writers 2021 anthology Chiaroscuro. If you are interested in getting a copy of that anthology, try here or on Amazon here.
I also have one poem in All the Lives We Ever Lived: A Lighthouse Writers Workshop Community Anthology, Volume 1 published in 2019. You can find that one here.
And I recently attended a workshop about putting together a chapbook, which is a short collection of poetry (sometimes super-short), and I may manage to pull that off before too much longer, almost certainly before the memoir.
I mention all this because there’s a dear woman I encounter at various poetry events and in my classes who seems concerned that I still write sometimes about grief and loss. I promise I am still very much engaged in life.
Once upon a time there was a little girl who dreamed of writing a real published book. I haven’t given up yet!
Here’s wishing you the very best as you chase your dreams!