We’re into leaf-out here in the interior–the leaves, still small and yellow-green, shine as they flicker in the breeze. The wind has been stronger than usual as the ever-increasing daylight creates unstable warm air masses that move across the flats or up the river system. The other day, I came home to find Sam in the middle of the corral staring hard at the hill behind the house, where a large spruce had fallen–luckily, along the side of the hill and not onto the house or the corral. Yesterday, he spooked at the hose being pulled along the side of the corral. We’re all a bit jumpy.
So write about a phobia that turned out to be nothing to worry about–or a close call (like the tree). Let the wind blow through the poem–or have a cat run through it.
Add it as a comment and I’ll post it here.
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Here’s a poem from Tim Murphrey:
Bernoullian Extacy
Scraping the ice from the pane
solidifies to my vision
the relationship between two lovers:
Me
and the ground.
But the doubt in our courting lies
on me, an Earthbound yearning,
and I wonder if she wants
like I do, or worse.
Our union can only end in disaster.
A buzzing, as of switches being thrown,
that light, airy feeling
from my new mistress
helps to lull me into the big lie
that this may never end.
Fast, too fast! and I’m always watching,
straining to see the ground, now grown cold,
expression seldom changing,
quick, constant, moving glimpses of us sailing over,
swollen belly mocking; what was once the Earth’s
now belongs to the vespers.
She’ll have to tolerate our presence soon, as we give in
to the sinking feeling –
Our union can only end
in disaster.
Tags: Alaska, fear, not complaining, poetry, Psyche, spring, writing, writing prompt
Mattie's Pillow 
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