Sunday, November 20, 2011

November Ballast

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I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain. – Mary Frye

November curdled into being soon after tripping over October, only to lose her autumnal identity to December’s bully impatience given to squalls of snow talcum. One month clumsily falls and drifts into another and I’m lost in between seasons of warring transgression. These turbulent months are threaded heavy by limbs of holiday cheer or digress - whichever tempura fits. I’m left adrift among words weather weary in nature and floundering in spiritual ether.

In a slow procession the nearby woodland disappeared under bulldozers and backhoes and all I can envisage are the years it takes for a single tree to root and thicken with bark. The view became a barren mud lake, missing her children’s limbs which used to vie for skyline. Children - yes, for all that grows is a sentient life in it’s own right; the earth a mother whose womb they shared. The pup’s chest rumbles in a whine beside me in spiritual discourse which passes from dog to woman – our shared pain for what was once a forest. She looks up at me searching for reasoning I don’t have and I apologize for the ilk of human cudgel.

And I find the backhoe of my imagination can’t seem to dig deep enough for words. Leaving me to wonder, has desire mined my intelligence to the point, I'm left with nothing more than a barren slate - a muddy expanse of word sludge? Did I cultivate the depths and forget my morality and emotional sentience? Words are structured like tree limbs entwined into a forest of sentences and paragraphs like woodland husbandry. The writer in me must learn to plow gently and weave between the soil of soul and prose, without up heaving the basic foundation of natural nuance and wonderment.

In the forest of my imagination words dance like fey crossing the void into reality and I write a never ending tree line of wordage against humanities angst. So if November sank her hooks deep in a ballast of inspiration; will December herald what words convey in secret places of the heart?

*Click on Link for Mary Frye's poem "Do Not Stand at my Grave And Weep"

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Picture found here.

23 comments:

  1. Love this entry. You and Mary keep the dicionary in this old country gal's hands. Love the subject of trees. I almost cried when the electricity company had to trim my back yard tree. When I planted it I had no idea it would ever reach the wires.

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  2. An interesting take on writing and the process...

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  3. I've been using gems and crystals to help spark my writing and to recover from an inner ear infection. It's worth a shot if you're willing to try it. I recommend sodalite, dolomite, pyrite, and tangerine quartz.

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  4. Errrr. Compared to October, November has moved along with disheartening quickness. I can't believe it's almost Thanksgiving already. What the hell...

    Someone should go tear that guy's roots up.

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  5. Moving piece.

    In the end though the roots always grow back... somewhere else maybe, but the landscape inside has no space and time ;)

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  6. Your words always leave me in awe, Indigo. You make me see and feel so easily.

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  7. Sad, haunting, beautiful. We lost many trees a few weeks ago due to severe weather, a heavy snow on leaf laden boughs. The forest is thinned out behind our home, I pray for renewal in the spring where saplings can arise from roots still embedded.

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  8. Gorgeous, gorgeous post. Wow.

    You dance so well with words, I hope you know that :)

    I'm sad that your forest is gone. Here's to regrowth, even in the wintertime.

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  9. Gosh, you said it all so beautifully!

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  10. Aw, I liked that poem a lot. Thanks for sharing the link.

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  11. to me trees are like the mythical phoenix- they will always find a way to rise again.

    i love the part about december being a bully.

    in other news i've moved to a new url- please come visit soon.

    http://yogivemeyourfortybeforeibeat.blogspot.com/

    xxalainaxx

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  12. Can you sing instead of back hoes and bull dozers, of destruction to construction to a different lndscape?

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  13. Sorry I've been away from reading for so long. It's so hard to keep up with all the blogs I read sometimes. Blogger now offers an email subscription you can add to your sidebar. It's great. When you make an entry in your blog, it comes straight to my inbox. It makes keeping up so much easier. Have a good week!

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  14. Indigo, I am a bit lost today. November has been a bit hard, as has the year. I appreciate the comment you left about Stella. You love dogs. I love dogs. And we both love all living creatures. I feel glad that we connect at that cellular and spiritual level.

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  15. Wonderful writing again..autumn sounds like mine in other ways. and so it is with fall to winter, a turbulent change...thanks..you described it so well

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  16. I found you! Nice imagery. Balance, every now and again the underbrush of the forest must be burned.

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  17. Oh, Indigo. I am saddened beyond words about the destruction of your nearby forest. Your own words have made me shed tears, and I feel a sorrow that is a lonely one. I don't know why, but the way you described Pickles' reaction to the bulldozing just got to me at the core. I will be thinking of you two sensitive souls attending to one another in this inexplicable loss.

    Your prose here is so beautiful. I urge you to consider sharing it with The Nature Conservancy or another nature group. It is wondrous. xoxo

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  18. You're a nifty writer, huh? Very cool. I don't think you should write about the whorizontal anymore, but vertical. Why? Shall I see you in Heaven, girl, where we'll have a BIG-ol, kick-ass, party-hardy for maaany eons celebrating our resurrection, fulla nekk'n and luuuv'n, drink'n and dancing, magical, hypnotic, renegade, exceeding-the-rules and maaany other, magnificent, wonderFULL things ...?? I hope so, miss gorgeous --- Need proof on the Heavenly luxury? Radioacti-V, super-sonic-4D, exceed’n-the-limits? Just lookit my profile; lookit ‘MySoulAccomplishment’. God blessa youse -Fr. Sarducci, ol SNL

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  19. Have I ever told you how much I love your imagery?
    The loss of a forest is such a horrible thing. I'm sure the forest would rather lose the people.

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  20. First time visiting your blog, and I am already so impressed with your writing. The photo is an interesting, powerful choice. What a pleasure to visit you here.

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Thank you for giving my silence a voice, my muse your words, and taking the time to discover my prose.