A month of Thursdays later, and I’m finally sharing a recent creation from my poet-soul. If it surprises you that it’s about walking, I have to wonder how long you’ve been reading after me.
In February, my husband and I took a jaunt over Mount Hood to Central Oregon. In Redmond, we visited our “home” resort – Eagle Crest.
If three golf courses aren’t enough, there’s a river beside a trail. A huge looping paved bike/walking path circles the newer portion of the resort. A rustic fence surrounds a pasture where horses graze.
And mule deer descend on a daily basis to mow the greens with their persistent snacking.
It was winter. And it snowed. In fact, we woke up to white on several mornings and watched peace blanket the world on two snowy afternoons.
But that didn’t keep us from our “daily constitutional.” (Does anyone know why this phrase usually refers to a walk?)
On the first day, a line of poetry came to me as we rounded the bend toward our condo. The next morning, I opened a blank Word document and typed those words. (Yes, I was amazed I still remembered them. No, it isn’t the first line of the finished poem.)
A few other lines followed.
Over the rest of the vacation, I jotted reflections after every walk.
This is the resulting poem.
Dry pungent air slaps across senses
Like ammonia-cleansed halls
Chill wind slices through jackets
Like shards of broken windows
Purple berries clutter the trail
Like a carpet of winter raisins
Mule-eared deer freeze among grass
Like Medusa’s unlucky prey
Sunlight glints through greenery
Like Dr. Banner in Hulk’s wake
Voices hum in stops and starts
Like an untuned radio station
Rain slashes across cheekbones
Like a fire hose on duty
Footfalls tramp in tandem
Like a pair of ticking clocks
Sleet whispers across damp shoulders
Like an insecure first date
Branches wave unsynchronized
Like princesses on parade
Autos rumble on distant asphalt
Like a Sunday morning mower
Snowflakes tumble in torrents
Like a waterfall of white
Silence presses against eardrums
Like water on a diver’s back
Snow whirls from nowhere
Like a cherry blossom Spring
Have you ever felt poetic after a nature walk? I confess that walking is one of the ways I stimulate my creativity. If I’m stuck on a scene, and the weather isn’t down-pouring, I’ll slip on my walking shoes and take a lap around the block.
Do any of the lines activate your senses? Did you have an emotional response to the poem?
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