Observations

This morning, I heated a mug full of water in the microwave, steeped a green tea bag in it for a few minutes, then added some lemon juice and a little bit of maple syrup. When I looked out the sliding glass doors at my balcony, I could see an orange mum and a tiny pumpkin that will be gifts for someone else. I also could see a yellow mum with burlap wrapped around its pot that will remain on the balcony for the foreseeable future. There’s a pink box that was once filled with cupcakes that were gifted to me but is now empty because all of its contents had been eaten. It balanced on top of a peanut butter jar on the dining room table.

These are imperfect sights, ones that I’m not sure I want to remember, but I am writing them anyway because something about them seems profound.

In many ways, I am my surroundings. I mean this both in the sense that the clutter level around me is usually an indicator of my mental state, and in the sense that I am an amalgamation of everything that I have ever seen or heard or touched or smelled or tasted.

I worry that I’m only truly present when I’m writing. That I just let life pass me by unless I go into the moments with the intention of recording them. I don’t know if that’s a problem or not.

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Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

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I See

I use my words to build a house
with a solid foundation to offer stability.
I utilize orange-red bricks
To build up the walls.
I put a gray, shingled roof over the top
To protect it from the rain.
I leave spaces for doors and windows
So that others may enter or peer inside.

I use my verbs to lay down the concrete driveway,
My nouns to place the sturdy hedges,
My adjectives to grow the flowers in shades
Of magenta and deep violet.

With my sentences, I labor until the landscape is complete,
Until I am sure that the house will not topple over,
Until there are trees and grass
Decorating the space with vibrant green.

I hope you can see this view
In all its imaginary glory.

These descriptions don’t come naturally to me,
But my favorite author paints pictures with her words,
Wondrous, dynamic images,
And I try to copy her.

The truth is when I close my eyes
And think these phrases,
Everything is blank.

I cannot see what I created.

But that doesn’t mean that I can’t build a house
with a foundation and walls and a roof,
with doors and windows,
Because even if I don’t have a picture,
I still have my words.




Image by MR1313 from Pixabay

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