I hope this month finds you better in mind, body, and spirit than last month.
Masks are coming down, venues are up, and people are venturing into museums, concerts, and other large inside gatherings. I’m excited about the avenues opening and cautious at the same time.
The month is ending and rolling into May, bringing a sunnier springtime and birds I’ve never seen before into the garden. We usually have crows, sparrows, and other birds in varying shades of gray, so spotting this red-headed beauty had me tip-toeing for the camera.
But before we slide into May Day, Cinco de Mayo, Mother’s Day, my own mother’s birthday, and Memorial Day, I’d like to commemorate April’s Poetry Month.
April 29th is the day to share a poem (Poem in Your Pocket Day). I found this one, or it found me:
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees that really gets to me. When all the shock of white and taffy, the world’s baubles, and trinkets, leave the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath, the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin growing over whatever winter did to us, a return to the strange idea of continuous living despite the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then, I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.
Patient, plodding…growing over whatever winter did to us…living despite the mess of us
I love the colors and visuals in the poem. What strikes me most are the words the greening of the trees. This makes me think of growth even when a plant is dormant.
The rebirth, despite the mess of us. Despite the collective state of the world and our miniature worlds. The verse points to the beauty of life’s realism and the not very appealing aspects. This makes me think of how joy can live after hurt, how the emptiness can be filled, and how we can blow life into dying embers.
The poem reminds me that we can nurture the strange idea of continuous living. I want to remember that instruction.
So, to remind me, I stare out my window and see the succulents in the garden. They were various shades of green until they bloomed their flowers. Now, we have an abundance of butterflies and bees that makes our cats give us attitude when it’s time to come inside. They too would rather be in the sunshine.
Writing Life: 14 months to Publication
A couple of months ago, I re-worked my sixty-word description of my novel. Yesterday, my publisher notified me that my manuscript title will have to be ‘retitled.’ The current title is the one I’ve had for soooo long.
I’m a flexible person, so I brainstormed titles with my writing group and came up with a group favorite: Accused. I submitted that one and will hope for the best.
I’m lucky in drawings, and last week I won a 10-minute video session with an editor to go over my query letter for my second novel. The Zoom call was helpful (and humbling). This was sponsored by Manuscript Wishlist.
Next month, I may surprise you with a newsletter format. I’m not a techie person, so wish me luck.
Stay healthy, don’t give up, and enjoy the sunshine, literally and figuratively. See you in May and thanks for reading.