A few days ago I sauntered into our library (by the dining room) and a book called “Wapiti Wilderness” jumped out at me. I grabbed it like I had hit gold. I grew up in Wyoming, living near Wapiti Lodge on the way to our cabin. This lodge was Buffalo Bill’s hunting lodge at one time. I have been familiar with the name Wapiti for as long as I can remember. However I never knew what Wapiti meant. It means elk. I was astounded! I have been reading it, savoring every word because it is written in prose, like POETRY.
The book takes place near Jackson Hole, Wyoming, one of my favorite places in the world. My sister used to live in the town and later moved to the outskirts. My mother was in a nursing home at the edge of an elk refuge for 9 years so I would visit her and go on fabulous hikes with my brother, exploring many parts of the area. Ahhhh, heaven!
The descriptions in the book of the wildlife, the mountains, the plants, the scenery is breathtaking. They mention places and details I’m familiar with. I’m truly ecstatic while I’m reading this. The key is because it is POETRY! The words and phrases carry me along like a gently moving stream. At last I understand that POETRY doesn’t have to rhyme. That kind of POETRY has its place, to be sure. It just has never appealed to me.
This has inspired me to pay even more ATTENTION to my writing. I can embellish sentences and ideas with a softness that is like POETRY. Also when I write my Small Stones I can embellish them as well. It is a whole new world that has opened up to me. There is no pressure or great change that has to take place, just a CONSCIOUSNESS.
I took a walk yesterday before dark and watched a ‘gaggle’ (not really but I love the word) of Ibis’s pecking for food along the shore, maybe 12-14 of them merrily looking for their supper. From left field came a ‘gaggle’ of about 20 Ibis’s flying over the lake on their way to meet their ‘family’ on the shore. It took my breath away! Then a gaggle of about 20 more came to join everyone for a feast. It was so moving to see how sure the flying Ibis’s were and how gently they were received by the others. There was no dancing, per se, but I could tell all were welcome and ‘at home’. POETRY, indeed.
What I discovered in this very short period of time is that anything can be poetry, writing, painting, drawing, architecture, arrangements, thinking and planning, visioning, gardening. It is merely a matter of PERSPECTIVE. I have decided I am going to do my best to come from a place of POETRY in my endeavors and watch the smoothness, the flow and beauty that come from that place.