the blue muse

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and we’ll feast on cotton candy clouds

kiss warm breezes

collect glitter from stars

dance with tomorrow

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The cycle of life, on one strong stem.

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Wishing you a weekend filled with beauty.

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and i have but one:

open

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with your english daisies and your raspberry sunsets

your windows open and your feet always bare

those peony promises, promises, promises

and the divine light of dawn

in your eyes

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i am smitten

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Some years, I miss them completely, these blooms that open when no one is looking and are past their prime almost before you can blink. This morning, I took a moment to sit in the garden before I begin another busy day, and there they were, spotlighted by the sun just peeking up over the horizon.

The bed they are in is still a mess, needing weeding and mulching and tidying up, but the flowers pay that no mind, nor do they wait for my attention. They reach for that sun, offer food to the bees, sway in the breeze.

I want to be out there, gardening, but I must be in here, working. At least I have a lovely view to keep me company, just behind these iris is a gaggle of purple allium, backed by a sea of forget-me-nots. From where I sit, it’s easy to ignore the weeds.

And that’s why I do it, this work, in here, and all the work I can barely keep up with, out there. A robin is singing his heart out just now, welcoming the dawn.

As am I.

are always dressed in green
and flowers march themselves
to the door of daydream

sun on skin and whisper breezes
up at dawn and late late nights
winding my way through pages of novel

bare feet on cool wood floor
windows open to a symphony
of simple declaration

grow

live

rejoice

again

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Wishing you a wonderful weekend.

Up at sunrise to a morning filled with the kind of sun
almost too bright to be believable.

And yet, there it is, inviting me outside,
despite the meteorologist’s promise of rain.

I want to lie down on that bed of blue forget-me-nots
and forget about everything but sky.

I want to be a flower for a day, standing tall and beautiful
and blissfully ignorant of the distraction of tomorrow.

I want to bleed sunshine and color, promise and pretty,
scent and a complete lack of sensibility.

My pillow will be a cloud of non-conformity,
my blanket a crocheted spread of garrulous stars.

And my dreams will be fireflies,
lighting the way.

I was recently invited by my friend, Kathryn Dyche Dechairo, to participate in a virtual blog tour that aims to highlight many wonderful blogs through some questions on the writing and creative process. Kathryn is a lovely, multi-talented artist/photographer/writer. You can view her blog tour post, and her fabulous work, over at her place, The Edge of Silence.

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What am I working on?

Way too much, as usual! I suppose the big news is that I’m working on a novel. It’s been a long process, it’s difficult to find large chunks of time to devote to writing, and I’m finding it hard to maintain any flow when I only work on it in bits and pieces. But I’m learning a lot as I go along, and my goal is to finish this year.

I do write daily, whether it is on that project, poetry, or blog posts, and some days, all three. Writing has definitely become part of my routine, and I am grateful for that, it keeps me centered, I suppose in much the same way that meditation does for some people.

And then, of course, I am always working on design, photography, and jewelry as well. I make my living as a freelance graphic designer, and that keeps me pretty busy. But I am blessed in that every day, I am creating something. It’s not always the easiest of lifestyles, I am always racing the clock and always wishing there was more security, but I try to be grateful for what I have.

I’m also working on a book of poetry, I’m just stuck on trying to figure out how to publish it in the format I want. Hopefully I can make that happen this year as well.

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How does my work differ from others in its genre?

This is one of those questions I think would be best answered by other people. I think it’s hard to see yourself objectively as an artist. I suppose the obvious answer is that my work differs from others because it is mine, we all have our own point of view to offer, and for me, that is one of the most important aspects of art. You get a glimpse into someone else’s mind and heart, and along with that, you very often get to see something mirrored within yourself. Deep down, we are all very much alike.

If I had to choose one thing, I suppose it would be that there is a strong thread of nature running through most of my work. I am happiest when I can be outside, beneath the sun and the sky and the moon, and much of my work reflects that.

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Why do I write/create what I do?

This question makes me smile, because I want to say, “why not?”

I write because I can’t not write, and it really is as simple as that. I started writing poetry when I was quite young. It just happened, I didn’t set out in any conscious way to become a poet or a writer, I just found myself doing it, with no sense of what that would end up saying about my identity.

And I guess that’s still the case, I write about what I feel, what touches me, or hurts me, or brings me joy. I write what I see in life, the way we all live and struggle, fail and succeed, sob and laugh, and back again. I think when I write I am always trying to get to that place, the core of humanity that shows who we are as a collective, that place where we can all say, “Yes, I’ve felt that.”

But it’s not a conscious process—my writing, poetry especially, very often starts out as a literal observation, a bird or a tree or my own kitchen table, but as the words flow, so does the meaning. I almost never plan ahead as far as where a poem, or any piece of writing for that matter, will end up, I just allow the words to guide me to the conclusion.

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How does my writing/creative process work?

It has become my habit, after four years of blogging, to write myself awake every morning. I get up early, usually 6:00 or 6:30, and head right to my computer (after I’ve made my first cup of tea). And the first thing I do (okay, after I’ve checked my email) is write, even on those days when my schedule is already overloaded.

I don’t think that’s a habit I would have arrived at had I not started blogging, and now that I am working on a larger piece of work, it’s a habit I am glad to have acquired. There are many mornings when I sit down and think “I have nothing to say,” but then I force myself to start typing and pretty much without fail, the words show up. Sometimes I have to wrestle with them for awhile to get them down on the page in their proper places, but it is always worth the effort.

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Thanks, Kathryn, for inviting me to participate in this tour, and now it’s my turn to pass the torch to three other lovely ladies. I very much admire the writing of each one, and I think you will, too. And don’t forget to check out their blogs next Monday to hear their answers to these questions.

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d smith kaich jones is an ex-Texas baby grown up to be a painter/artist-turned writer-turned storyteller/poet, using whatever tool is at hand to spin her stories. She is influenced by the imperfections of daily life, the overlooked small moments, forgotten secrets, the hints of people a place remembers.  She is currently working on a series of vignettes and stories called Continuations, and can be found online at www.emmatree.com

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Graciel Evenstar is a floral designer, writer and photo enthusiast. Ashe is the creator of the original magazine, The Soul in Bloom. You can follow her offerings at instagram/thesoulinbloom, evenstarart.blogspot.com, and be sure to check out her gorgeous new magazine here: http://magcloud.com/browse/issue/737964

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Sarah Elwell is an author, photographer, and homeschooling mother, living at the wild edge of the world. Her latest book, Outside Where the Heart Lies, is a collection of stories and photographs and will be available in early June. You can visit her at Knitting the Wind www.knittingthewind.blogspot.com and her photography site www.knitting-the-wind.tumblr.com

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What a week it has been. From gorgeous warmth and sunshine to hail and torrential rain and back, again and again and again.

The fiddleheads in the photo on my last post were all destroyed by the hail, as was half of a tree in our front yard, not to mention the flooding.

Just now it’s been raining for 12 hours straight, the cat wants out, the dog is perplexed, and I am trying my best to be patient.

Mother Nature always gets her own way, and we can only wait until each storm passes, and then clean up when it is done.

But man, what a mess.

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Here’s hoping the sun shines again, soon.

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*title is from an Anne Sexton poem