Hello readers! I hope your week is going well. Yesterday, we had a really fun event for Marianjoy: our annual golf invitational. The day was a long, hot one, but it was perfect for golf, and everyone had a great time. We really appreciated the generosity of the donations for our silent auction and all of the golfers who came out to support us.
While all of yesterday was wonderful, I wanted to share a particularly enchanting experience.
In my most recent post, “Summer Heat,” I talked about how everything seems to come alive in the summer. Sometimes, though, when it gets REALLY hot, especially coupled with humidity, it’s hard to remember that. The weather can feel stifling in such a literal way that you notice everything around you is still and quiet–including yourself. Trees are still full and green, but you stop hearing their leaves rustle in the wind. Birds sit where they can find shade, too lethargic to fly or sing. Of course, bugs never seem deterred by the humidity, but maybe that’s nature’s way of keeping us awake. 😉
The golf hole I was stationed at yesterday had a beautiful view. I took this picture at the hottest time of the day. Look how the lake is a perfect mirror of the trees and sky–you almost can’t tell which side is right-side up! I was very grateful for the shade of the tree you can see in the foreground. 🙂
All of a sudden, without warning, the sky opened up and began raining. It went from a drizzle to steady rain, breaking nature’s trance with movement and sound. The rain fell straight down, and it was easy enough to avoid (especially with the awesome canopy chair my dad bought me), but it reinvigorated everything.
The rain was completely transformative, and the sound of the raindrops hitting the lake’s surface, plus the reinvigorated birds’ calls, truly sounded like a song. These pictures don’t do the experience justice, so I also resolved to illustrate it with words.
I wrote two haiku of the experience. This seemed a fitting format, because, as mentioned in my last post, the most common subject of the haiku is nature, and it is supposed to describe a moment. It’s also appropriate because the moment took place during a work event for Marianjoy; it echoed the first poetry I began to write after my traumatic brain injury–also haiku and also at Marianjoy. I think I was drawn to haiku as my first attempt at poetry–at writing, period–because the haiku is so brief and accessible. Indeed, the brevity can be intimidating, but if it is insurmountable, it is the wrong format for what you wish to describe. It forces you to focus on a single thought. The syllabic guide is almost therapeutic, a drum keeping the time of your thoughts. The effect is subtle, a dampened expression of emotion that doesn’t overwhelm the casual reader but explodes into realization with repeated deep readings.
At the Association of Writers & Writing Programs conference I went to this year, I attended a few panels about the healing effect of writing. I could attest to the power first-hand, but I was happy to hear it is a growing trend in therapy. As part of my memoir, I plan to include some of the poetry I wrote during my recovery.
Without further ado, I hope you enjoy these haiku (accidental rhymes are just an intrinsic part of a poet’s life). The moment was so pretty, I had to write two. That’s shaky justification, and I’d get criticized for my inability to be concise in a poetry class, but darn it, this is MY blog. 😉
After all the build-up, I’m afraid you’ll be searching for some huge buried truth, but I promise these are just my awe of nature. At least, I think so. Sometimes, poetry betrays more of the poet than the poet herself is aware of. 😉
Eager to merge drops
crescendoing in patters
breaking the tension
all muted by scorching sun.
Life sings in chorus.