Rolling down the interstate on a morning after a heavy rain making the world look like it was scrubbed clean by Mom last night, I stay relaxed but constantly aware of traffic around me, especially the big guys, meaning the tractor trailers that dwarf my little, red Mazda II that I love so much.
They generally tend to be good drivers but still they have to see (meaning me) in order to be road savvy where I’m concerned as I never forgot the time a trucker kept pulling left into my lane as I blew the horn, pffft, his music must have been playing loud and I finally just braked my car rather than run into the center island because I knew he just didn’t see me..
We were slowing down, fortunately, for some kind of trouble ahead or for certain I would have been in trouble, too.
At the time I was clearly alert and on my toes as far as interstate driving goes not allowing random thoughts to run through my mind as I was doing today.
Driving is good for letting ideas spark, ferment and form solid ideas for what I am going to work on in my writing when I arrive home and also for working out knots in a piece of work I have already started, maybe thought was finished until that lightbulb went bing!
That bing let me know it wasn’t as finished as I thought.
Jude writes of losses, letting go, death, dying, mourning, mostly remembering; bringing remembering to me, though my memories are always there in my shadow even when I have no shadow. I feel the depth in his writing as it encourages me to take time to write a poem for each of my own many losses.
Clearly I see the portrait of his sister he writes about, my dear friend Anne, younger then, with the simple beauty of daisies and the sun lighting her hair. She adored her brother.
Fortunately, each of my lost loves i.e. ancestors, parents, siblings, sons, and friends, has come to me at least once, a few have come often but each time has been comforting. Life after life and all after love. This is a special chapbook that has important insights to give you, written in many different ways.
It was one of those clear, cool, clean-air early mornings perfect for walking and getting my energy level up before I began my work day.
The sky was Carolina blue with clouds straight off a Monet painting just drifting by with ease.
As I moved along about a mile from home I looked up and noticed clouds moving along at a quicker pace than when I began.
Uh, oh, I see the one little cloud hanging with its big brothers, it’s dove grey color darkened, beginning to look threatening.
No worries, it’s just a wee cloud in the middle of big, snowy, candy cotton clouds.
I may as well turn back anyway I think as I cross the street to turn toward home still believing that wee cloud was of no consequence until I reached 50 feet from my front door when that wee cloud burst overhead giving me a shower soaking through and through.