Today with words
I want to create something delicate and beauiful. To weave a web so fine, to show what is natural and true and lovely. To extend lines of dew drops revealing exquisite form, reflecting light. Nothing garrish, harsh, artificial, nothing saccharine, no cloying fake scents, no chemical tasting fruits. Today with words, to form something rare, beautiful, alive, growing, understated, it calls softly, you stop and listen, wonder washes over you.
But I know what I will be doing today.
Today I will be taking whatever I can find, hulling from trash heaps all around me, tin cans, and barbed wire, crazy glue, and plastic flowers, paper towel tubes, emtpy ceral boxes, rags, old perfume, dead twigs, glob-by paint, whatever has been dwelling forgotten in bottom drawer of the fridge, everything that I find, dumped in a pile, then stacked together, glued, tied, nailed, crooked creation of bits and pieces, dripping of half clotted glue and paint, a stinking monstrosity of color and form, my own Frankenstein's monster, as I try desperately to create life.
But I also know today, as I create this rough jagged huge form, something will be able to take root beneath it, something young, tender and strong, and it will find its way through, vine around and up, weaving till it reaches the top, to sunlight, to potential bloom. It will start to grow within this base, using parts of this structure to find its way. It may be hard with all this mess, but I will look carefully and closely and eventually I will discover it within, and uncover it without, by taking away what it doesn't need, cutting off those parts, uncovering this new growth, giving it more air. I will prune the garrish, with saw, with scissors, with ax, cutting away, till I am left in the end with something growing, something that can become delicate and true and beautiful, in time. With care, and a sensitive eye, in time. But I can't start there, I can't hope to be there today, not anywhere near it, nor tomorrow either, first, first I must create the beast.