Defining The Morning
By John R. Greenwood
A fellow blogger recently posed the question, "What is poetry?". As with most people this question surfaced while redirecting a "dusting" of white powder from the driveway. It was early and quiet, the garage lights illuminating the driveway like a ski area parking lot at night. My mind wandered off as it tends to do and any reflections containing anything within my sight line flooded over me in a gentle wash of calm. To me poetry is recognizing what the world is showing you. It's opening the aperture wide enough to see what's most important at that very moment. We miss these snippets of joy because there is always a distraction holding in the doorbell. We are constantly bombarded with what someone else considers pertinent to having a fulfilling life.
To me poetry is that experience that tells you to ignore the crowd and listen to the voice coming from the snowblower, snow covered branch, or quiet that only you can hear. Poetry is taking those tiny fractions of time and compiling a list you can reference when the need arises. This morning as I "undusted" the "dusting" I found myself at peace with life in the present. The distractions and loose parts that come with life seemed insignificant. Stress was whispering off in the distance but I was able to turn my back and focus on the poetry of the snow coated branches above me. Poetry is just a word.
Life is knowing what that word is trying to tell you at any given time, in any given place, under any random circumstance. For the moment I think I have it defined--that is, until the next storm arrives.