Today I go for a walk again, but unlike last week, I won't have the company of the moon, at least not the grandeur of the moon that we had last week. We had clear skies, which we don't always have, and I had my cell phone, so I could attempt pictures.
I don't have the best phone, so I can't take the best pictures, as was evident, when I took pictures of the moon when it was a few days past full (and the full moon pictures aren't that great either--not sure how to get rid of the reflection underneath the moon):
This line came to me: "How quickly we go from waxing to waning." I thought about the trees, which are beginning to look a bit bedraggled, even as they are preparing themselves for their autumnal regalia, and this bit came to me: from flourishing to fading. I liked the way the whole line went together: How quickly we go from waxing to waning, from flourishing to fading. If I could come up with a 2 syllable word that also starts with an f and means flourishing, that would be better, I know, but I haven't yet.
I snapped some additional pictures to go with it, and I was happy with how the snowball bushes came through, even in the pre-dawn light.
I've been trying to make that line into a poem. It came to me on the morning after the Democratic Convention, but I'm in no mood to write a political poem. It seems much better as a poem about a woman at the far edge of midlife (the edge that is closer to old age), and yet, I don't really feel like exploring that either, at least not yet. It could be your basic nature poem, but the world has so many of those, and I'm not sure I can contribute a new angle--although that writing prompt appeals to me: write a nature poem that says something about the passing of the seasons and the phase of the moon, but in a brand new way.
So I've written it down, and we'll see if more lines come forth to join it. Maybe it's time to return to my abandoned lines document and see if that approach jiggles something loose out of my brain.
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