Wow, if I could go back in time to 2015 and tell myself what was in store for the year ahead? I wouldn’t, I would say, “No, that me was in bed by ten o clock, let her sleep in quiet, safe oblivion for just a little longer.”
Needless to say, even though we shall all still say it, this year sucked. But I can say I’ve learned a great deal about myself, the world, and writing. On a personal level I struggled through the fall with nearly overwhelming depression, but came through with a few 2 AM revelations that have at least helped me put things into perspective. I’ve started to feel the pavement beneath me on our walks again, and the birdsong filters in through the windows as more than just noise. Despite the myth of creative types needing some inner darkness to create, really the demons just make you blind to whatever may be inside that could come out…
So here’s a look back at what I’ve accomplished, and a look forward at what I hope to achieve.
Happy Everything to Everybody! After the madness of last week I can now resume a more regularly scheduled program with WordPress. Yesterday was spent in the throes of family, with barely a phone in sight and MTV classic playing on the TV. If you squinted your eyes you could almost imagine yourself twenty or thirty years in the past, the fire hot in the old wood stove, the air cold and grey. We had to push my father’s silver pickup to get it going, our fifteen year old cat fell asleep in one of the gift boxes, I spilled coffee on my jeans and was more excited to find toys from my childhood then I was to open the gifts under the tree.
I hope life has been kind to you; five days into winter and I’m already dreaming of Spring. But alas, we’re not there yet, so here’s some snow in honor of the beginning of Winter. Stay warm, stay bright.
Born on Long Island in 1819, Whitman is one of the America’s most recognized poets. His work, “Leaves of Grass” is often his most recognized, and was his attempt at an American Epic. Greeted with derision over his use of sexual language and talk of “naturalism”, he was a figure of controversy for most of his life.
The poem today was taken from letters written by Whitman to Peter Doyle, starting in the year of 1868 during the presidential election and ending years later, away from the chaos of Washington in the quiet of Rhode Island.
The sky was full of big balloons letting off rockets and Roman candles
‘way up among the stars. The excitement, the rush,
Ever and anon the cannon, some near, some distant. I heard them
long after I got to bed. It sounded like a distant engagement.
From the window of my room I can look
down across the city, the river, and off miles upon miles in the distance.
You see everything as you pass, a sort of living, endless panorama
To-night we will hear the big guns and see the blazing bonfires.
The fall is upon us; I will write you a line from Providence
colored with all the rich colors of autumn.
On a flat world, where the white king rules,
The rest of us chase a setting sun,
And for it are labeled fools.
But I know the dance of stars,
The steady course of planets fall,
How our people wandered far,
How we answered our own call.
Around a green and verdant sphere,
Ablaze with artificial light.
Where the night is always near,
We stretch the limits of our sight.
I am weary, I am weak,
This cosmic race has fractured me.
The twilight in me left complete,
No light within to help me see.
Tomorrow dawns in our hearts,
As much as it does upon the hills.
Yet some nights break our will apart,
And the shadow in us kills.
Road trip edition.
I’ve always loved road trips, there’s something in the promise of being able to stop anywhere, take any road, find new things, see new sights. Of course, there are also trips where there’s just no stopping, due to time constraints or lack of places to pull over, but the car window can still afford some wonderful photographic opportunities.