Okay, that sounds either more adventurous or more grim than I intended. As far as I know, I’m not going anywhere at the moment, so let me explain. I was recently asked to contribute to an upcoming exhibit at ArtSpace in Loveland (Colorado)* by writing an ekphrastic poem to accompany a photograph by Robin Snyder. It’s a beautiful close-up of what I believe to be a couple of African violet leaves–NOT pictured below–so I wrote a poem called “Leaving.” I don’t have the right to share either the photo or the poem with you here, but I can offer you a few of my leafy photos to get you in the spirit of it:

And here’s one of my favorites from Courtney . . .

Ekphrastic poetry is simply writing a poem in response to a work of art. What I love about it is that by focusing on artistic details, I find that my mind opens in a fresh way to other images and ideas.

In this case, Robin Snyder’s photo is primarily of the beautiful underside of one of the leaves, with the prominent veins and striking coloration, which I noticed was so much more interesting than the other leaf in the photo, “right-side” up, showing only the smooth, perfect top we normally see. How could I not see a lesson there? How much energy do we all put into showing only the most perfect, smooth version of ourselves?

Then I noticed how the spread of the veins resembled the extensor tendons that become increasing visible on aging hands, mine, certainly, but I also David’s at the end, when the world was no longer in his grasp, when all he could do was take the outstretched merciful hand of God bringing him home, as he left this world behind.

I pray for you today, that the things you’re leaving behind are worry, shame, resentment, bitterness and their ilk, and that you get to keep your dear ones for a while longer. I hope you cherish every day.

Grace and peace to you, my friends, as we leave 2023 and head into this new year!

*I’ll be reading my poem during Loveland’s monthly Night on the Town. Here’s more info, in case you’d like to see the exhibit and hear the poems: https://visitloveland.com/events/night-on-the-town-4/ 

I’m not exactly sure where I’m headed . . .

but I do know education opens doors.

I’m thinking a lot about language, specifically, these days: poetic language, certainly, as I’ve just finished one poetry class and begun another, but also because I’ve started learning Spanish. Even if I never make it back to Mexico . . .

. . . the learning itself is worth the effort.

I absolutely won’t stop French. I’m loving the progress I’ve made and there’s still plenty to learn. But I’ve finally achieved a level that won’t be compromised by beginning another related language. I’d thought about Italian, but Spanish is more useful here in Colorado, so Italian will have to get in line.

So far, it doesn’t feel like such an uphill climb this time.

French is a big help, and bonus: fewer accents to remember in Spanish.

I love kids’ fearlessness with language. They’ll repeat anything without hesitation. These darling girls, now in high school, never lived nearby.

I didn’t get to enjoy much of their early speaking years, so I’m definitely making the most of any time I have with Beckett and Brooks.

The quality of Beckett’s and even Brooks’ French pronunciation keeps surprising me. I know it has to do with brain plasticity (or something else I know nothing about), but I wonder if it might also be because they haven’t yet convinced themselves that it’s hard. They take it as it comes, one sound, one word at a time. There’s a lesson in that.

In this time of unending, heartbreaking news, I’m trying to speak kindly in all languages I know or attempt. And more than ever, I’m seeking out kindness in the voices I listen to, wherever my path takes me.

I recommend the podcast “Everything Happens with Kate Bowler” or check out her website here. The best introduction to it may be the interview I heard on another podcast that is absolutely worth your time: “On Being with Krista Tippett” here’s a link to it.

I hope they inspire you, refresh you, and bring a smile to your face. Wishing you, as always, grace and peace–and kindness.

 

You feel a lot like summer. Things are still green and hot here, though in the 80s rather than 90s, and the evenings and mornings are cooler. A few leaves are starting to turn, but not many near me. Days like this are still to come . . .

It’s been years since I’ve been to Sunapee in the fall–David was the helpful one for closing-up tasks–but I have many great memories.

Although the leaves here on the Front Range aren’t doing much yet, the sunset last night looked like a river of gold coming down from the heavens.

And tonight a full moon was rising just as fireworks were going off about a hundred yards from my deck.

Even the grocery store is sporting fall color.

September has other things going for it, too, like picture day for the boys.

Plus new classes and loads of poetry events. One of my poems finally placed first, this one for a poem in a specific form in the Columbine Poets of Colorado annual contest. Woohoo! Almost as good as a gold star! 😉 Mine is a concrete poem (what used to be called a shaped poem). If you’d like to read it, click on the title: Pears.

So while I wait for a bit more of this . . .

I’m savoring time with dear ones, unexpected beauty, happy surprises, and as always, God’s grace and peace.  I hope you are too!