As I described in the Morning Pages section of Writing for Self-Discovery: Creating Breakthroughs, the pile of books below caught my eye as I was writing. After I was finished my three pages of writing, I grabbed other paper, photographed then wrote to the images.
Plastic Ferns on a Glass Table
Stiff, rigid, not real.
They lack the softness,
of their live counterpart.
“So why”, you ask,
“do they sit here on my patio
with so much beauty
right outside the window behind them?”
Spreading out, filling the space
It’s Nature that calls to me –
The openness – the life.
Even the stagnant moves on ultimately.
Stagnation means I’ll move on too.
In the meantime, these plastic ferns
serve as a subject for my writing.
They bring life to the space.
“How so?” you ask.
The focus on what is behind and
the reflections of
the outside on the table
Flowing ginger in the distance
live oak – the trunk adds stability and,
between pieces of the grey-blue sky,
All framed by the tabletop
created by Rob at age 15.
Plastic glass windows
and screen behind them.
The plastic ferns
pull in the life from beyond.
It’s the contrast that
truly gives the meaning.
Now to look for,
study and appreciate
the contrasts in my life.
A Pile of Books – Spines Visible
As I sat writing, I glanced a short distance,
a couple of feet across my patio,
and the following observation,
then words, came…
Colorful spines bring a smile to my face
contrasted with the vase of plastic ferns,
a couple of feet to my right, their left.
They have a life of their own.
Not in an even line – the books.
Could almost feel
like a precarious balance
yet, they’re solid.
Blues, lavender, greys.
Some type is white or yellow.
Then there is red.
No, it’s yellow and red –
FIND YOUR (yellow)
Words popping out:
Coltaire (a name) –
A colorful stack, balanced (visually)
by the front of a greeting card…
angled, shifting, toward me…
the top one in the basket
that is about a foot to the right.
I still smile as I consider
grabbing for my camera
so you, too, can see what I see.
It won’t be the same though,
as each of our visions and
interpretations are always different,
even if it’s an infinitesimal one.
And that’s another story or article.
Marifran can write it.
I giggled as I wrote the last.
The smile remains broad on my face.