Poetry and photography have helped me see the world in a very different way. When I see a hawk overhead, I wonder how I can capture its expanding flight. I get up early to catch the beauty of a horizontal light. I wait at night for the setting sun and hope the colors will be beautiful as the hit the trees. The beauty, sometimes, takes my breath away, and not much else matters, but to capture that one perfect photo or write that one perfect line. Art has made me appreciate the snow and cold much more than ever. While spring and summer produce the most vibrant colors, winter allows for severe introspection. Below is something that I wrote with those ideas in mind.
I see with an artist’s lonely eye.
Always, in the morning, when
the sun casts a pink and orange
glow on evergreens and birch.
The afternoons have their own appeal,
Warmest of amber, petals sighing
with the weight of summer’s breath.
But, poets crave the dark of winter,
when the lakes turn over, the murky
bottoms surface, shards of ice mix
with the brown remnants of fall kindling;
The disappearing sound of geese reminds us
that we will soon be alone to wrestle
with the absence of inspiration.
Susan Ward Trestrail, 2016