The Things That Make Up A Life
I remember when I first started trying to write poems, carrying around a black and white mottled composition book everywhere, more to be seen with it than actually to write. The writing all waited for INSPIRATION. And I remember feeling like I would never have enough to fill all of those pages and longing for the feeling of filling in that last one. I still have that first book tucked away somewhere, likely still unfinished. I should dig it out and reminisce. Now it’s my hair and my beard that are mottled through with white. And I still get a charge each time I fill the last page of a notebook. But these days it is less about waiting for inspiration and instead about chasing it down wherever I can find it. Keeping my eyes and my ears and my mind open to the things that make up a life and trying to notice them as they slip past, capture the memory of a moment, of a thought, before it is lost out to be caught in the hands of time. (From yesterday’s daily poem.)