I have to confess: Sometimes I say things without thinking. (!) But once, long ago, I opened my mouth while in a feisty mood (the kind that makes one declare things thoughtlessly–i.e., an ordinary day for me) and told a fellow poet, in a not so quiet voice, that I absolutely hate nature poetry.
Ha ha on me. And my deepest apologies, Mary Oliver—it was before I met you. Since that day, or course, I’ve written plenty of what could be called “nature poetry.” And now I live in one of the most gorgeous places on the continent. I spend a lot of time walking out there, and since that’s where I do my deep thinking, yeah—I end up absorbing all that imagery and sensory gorgeousness. Sure, my inner workings are tangled up in there, but so are (mountain) lions, tigers, and bears—oh my!
Now I can’t drive up the mountain without ogling the flora and fauna. I’ve developed a gratitude habit, too. “Thank you, Universe-Maker” is a running theme in my silent musings. I’ll never stop learning from all this creation. Call me a geek, but planetariums are my kinda fun.
That’s not to say I don’t run through my list of bitches and frustrations, too. But now I’ll pull the car over and pop off a few shots of the way the sun shines through the grasses in summer and autumn. If only I could capture the whole scope of what I see from the windshield.
I have learned the names of a dozen wild grasses in my front yard alone, but my favorites are Indian Rice Grass (looks like Fourth of July sparklers) and squirrel tail grass. I get so entranced by the colors, from green through purple to amber, it’s a wonder I haven’t run into some of the wildlife I wave to as I pass by.