I may have mentioned somewhere that every morning I’m reading through the book “The Circle of Life: The Heart’s Journey Through the Seasons” by Joyce Rupp & Macrina Wiederkehr. Rupp and Wiederkehr are beautiful, emotive writers.
This morning I read a little essay on “Where do poems live?” It brought to mind something S. Thomas Summers, one of my favorite poet/storytellers, wrote on his blog, Writing With Some Ink and a Hammer, the other day. He wrote: “Do I enter the world to find my poetry or do I enter poetry to find my world.” (I hope you can find some time to stop by and have a read of his post and site. Spoiler Alert: He LOVES dragons!)
I think Wiederkehr’s essay this morning just might address his question! This is for you, S.T. 😀 The essay delighted me and I wanted to share…
* * * * * * * * * * *
Where do poems live?
In the heart of winter you will find them very deep in the the beautiful rest of non-action. The seed in the soil knows them by heart. The first snow flakes of the season harold them. They rise up out of your breath on frosty mornings and burn logs in your fireplace as the day begins and ends. They gather for stories at the kitchen table. They live in the heart of the Storyteller and watch for tears and smiles on the faces of the listeners. As the sun rises over your rooftop they are there, and after it sets they take a very short nap, then build their tents in the darkness and wait for the stars to appear. When the cold air outside companions the warmth on the inside, they attach themselves onto the glass of the frosty window panes. The barren trees, arms raised in praise, sing of their glory, and the bright winter sunsets birth them each evening.
When spring shows her face you find them awaiting her arrival. They rise up out of the winter ground, laughing like children set free from school. They hide in opening buds as surprises are about to be unveiled. They live in the chlorophyll that paints the trees and grasses green. They spend much of their time in gardens. When you gather vegetables for your dinner table they follow you into the house. They climb into the serving bowls on your dinner table and dream of nourishing you with vitality and energy. They fall on your land in raindrops, and the storms that toss you about are not strangers to their presence. The wildflowers are among poem’ finest children and the mockingbird sings of them day and night. The fruit tree inscribe them on its branches in the form of blossoms. They kneel with you by your bedside when you pray your prayers at the end of the day.
Summer holds them in its deep green branches and birds sing them right out of the sky. They ride on the wings of the swallows. They hang in the feathers of the hawk searching for food. The orchards heavy with fruit sing of their presence. The fireflies in the meadows light up their way. The summer lakes and happy children’s voices ripple with their music. The cows in the bright green field look like poems to the wise ones. And the ones who milk the cows are making poems. The cardinal’s song is a lovely poem. And when your cat brings you the gift of a bird, even that is a bittersweet poem. The night songs of little forest creatures feed them to you in the evening. And the night sky wraps you with memories of them when you dream.
When autumn shows its face they are present with their greetings. They live in all that prepares for hibernation. When death claims us as its own, they stand there beside us with their secrets. They are present in wrinkled, aging faces and hearts full stories. Autumn leaves slowly changing into glorious colors speak silently of their presence. They are seen flying by your window in the shape of fallen leaves. And when the leaves are raked into heaps in your yard, even then they are not hidden. They sing brown crumbling songs from each pile of leaves. Children make visible the hidden poems when they roll delightfully in the autumn leaves and wear them in their hair. Geese flying south carry poems on their wings. And the people who take time to watch the geese bring them into their hearts to rest…